


Twilight Sun

by Artistvsworld



Category: Life and Death - Stephenie Meyer, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Demons, Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Car Sex, Cross Species Relationship, Crossdressing, Edward is the one in the dark, Edwards been a pent up 17 year old for like 80 years, Explicit Sexual Content, Femboy!Beau, Gay Sex, Gender or Sex Swap, Incubus!Beau, M/M, Mind Reading, Mpreg, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overstimulation, Post Mpreg, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, Self-Lubrication, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Sex in a Car, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Tension, Succubi & Incubi, That might confusing but there’s blood drinking during sex so yeah, Vampire Bites, Vampire Family, Vampires, femboy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 99,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27775285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artistvsworld/pseuds/Artistvsworld
Summary: Twilight, basically. Just make Bella Beau and make Beau a fellow immortal creature. Also, add adult stuff, and  make Edward and Beau act a little more normal when it comes to hormones. Beau's also a little more independent and more of an aggressor in his and Edwards relationship so yeah.
Relationships: Alice Cullen/Jasper Hale, Carlisle Cullen/Esme Cullen, Edward Cullen/Beau Swan, Emmett Cullen/Rosalie Hale
Comments: 58
Kudos: 104





	1. First Sight

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Alternate Twilight (MxM)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25266988) by [mystical__wonders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystical__wonders/pseuds/mystical__wonders). 



> First off, Yes this is totally inspired by Alternate Twilight (MxM) by mystical__wonders, so for a different interpretation of this idea, I recommend going and checking it out! At the time of writing this there are 28 chapters so far. 
> 
> Now, this will be more adult. I didn't tag this underage, because they are both immortal beings that are well over a century old, but if people think I should add underage because they are both physically 17, then I will. Just give me a better Idea of what I should do with that in the comments please. 
> 
> I edited the first few chapters of twilight and midnight sun, and so it will start out pretty similar, then slowly get into being mostly original content (as original as a fanfic set in the same universe and time and everything as the original work can get). I know there are a few fanfics in this realm that do something similar, so I apologize if you guys end up rereading heavy amounts of the same stuff from other edited fanfics. It does change significantly at about chapter 4 of twilight and chapter 5 of midnight sun, so thats a plus. There's also major turns at around chapter 8/9 of twilight and midnight sun, so it should start getting farther and farther from the original manuscript at that point. This is not only the combined length of twilight and midnight sun, but it will also probably be longer than that, so be prepared for a long long fic. I cant tell you exactly how long, but at least 50 chapters, since both books are roughly 25 chapters each, if not a few chapters longer. 
> 
> I don't know how often I'll post. I have a decent backlog of complete chapters but that dont mean I'll post often. We'll play it by ear and see how it goes. 
> 
> I'm also down for new title ideas, as I kinda think my title is dumb. Leave any suggestions in the comments. 
> 
> I'm also perfectly okay with critique and constructive criticism when it comes to my writing. my own personally writing isn't completely on display until later, but still any helpful suggestions are welcome!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this... piece of literature? I dunno just enjoy this thing.

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, and the sky was a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt —sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself— an action that I took with great horror. I detested Forks.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city, but I had exhausted my resources here, and it was time to move on.

"Beau," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself ? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

"I want to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now. I didn’t have much of a choice anyway. I needed to leave, whether I wanted to or not. 

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want — I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone.

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about. What questions would he have this time? 

Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyone would call verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision — like my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks. He would understand soon enough. After all, we were similar in more than one way. 

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen — just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun, and I had to admit, the rain did feel nice and cool against my skin. I almost didn’t want to put on my parka. Alas, it would cause a commotion if I didn’t cover up. 

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop. It wasn’t conspicuous enough. 

Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane.

"It's good to see you, Beau," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't allowed to call him Charlie to his face. Sometimes it made things harder when we couldn’t drop the formality. 

I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington.

My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were strapped in.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny reservation on the coast.

"No."

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.

That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking unnecessary things from my memory. Remembering Billy Black would be as necessary as remembering what I ate for breakfast when I was four. 

"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap." 

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few years old, really."

I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. "When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly. Those were the days. Glad those times are behind us. Surviving was a lot harder back then. 

"I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic. Not like I would need one anyway." We chuckle at the joke.

"They don't build them like that anymore, do they?" A smile creeps onto his lips. 

“No. No they don’t.” Another question is nagging at me. 

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free. 

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." I never looked a free truck in the mouth — or engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for Conversation. For now. 

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.

It was too green — an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had — the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new — well, new to me — truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged — the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser. I needed to blend in as much as possible before anything happened. 

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born.

The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window — these were all a part of my childhood. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a second hand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. How much would we actually stay in contact? Charlie knew better than she did about what I needed at this moment anyway. 

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact.

One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased. 

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven — now fifty-eight — students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back in Phoenix. All of the kids here had grown up together — their grandparents had been toddlers together.

I would be the new boy from the big city, a curiosity, a freak. Something I did not need right now. I vowed to make myself fit in as soon as possible. Everything would be easier once I was able to be one of them. You can only get away with so much when you stick out like a sore thumb. 

Maybe, if I looked like a boy from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage.

But physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I should be tan, sporty, tall, blond — a volleyball player, or a runner, perhaps — all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun.

Instead, I was ivory-skinned, without even the excuse of red hair, despite the constant sunshine. I had always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself — and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close. I barely made it past five feet. I couldn’t use the excuse of hitting a growth spurt soon either. Decades of using that particular one had made it taste bitter everytime anyone else said it, let alone when I did. 

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel.

I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin could be pretty — it was very clear, almost translucent-looking — but it all depended on color. I had no color here. I needed to eat something. 

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here?

I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. The cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

I didn't sleep well that night. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage. Maybe a cage would be the solution I needed. Prey can’t run when they are locked in with their hunter. 

I tied my waist length hair into a braid, ignoring the pieces that fell in front of my face when I was done. A simple white t-shirt and black jeans would have to do for today. Confusing people on the first day would be too much. I put a choker with a couple different charms attached to it, and pulled on a thick, oversized sweater with a thick turtleneck. Once I had finished, I headed down stairs for breakfast. 

Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed.

My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. 

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me feel sorry for him. How miserable is it to be in love with the same person for centuries? 

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint.

The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected.

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. _Where was the feel of the institution?_ I wondered nostalgically. _Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?_

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading “front office”. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.

The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm… Beaufort Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Son of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. _I can do this_ , I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name — not an encouraging response — and of course I flushed tomato red. At least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. Avoiding a rewrite this early into my rehoming would be ideal, to say the least. It wasn’t like I needed to avoid it too hard. I could probably rewrite all those essays in a few hours. I went through several more arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Beaufort Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.

"Beau," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" he asked.

I had to check in my bag." Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…" Definitely over-helpful.

"I'm Eric," he added.

I smiled. "Thanks."

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid, but you could never be too careful. People are willing to do more for even a glimpse. 

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.

"Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.

"Sunny," I told him.

"You don't look very tan."

"My mother is part albino." I grinned. 

He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful.

I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, taller than my five feet one and a quarter inches, but her wildly curly dark hair was responsible for a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up. 

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention.

They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big — muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students.

The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixielike, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and pointing in every direction.

And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes —purplish, bruise like shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose, though, their noses, all their features in fact, were straight, perfect, angular.

But all this is not why I couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine, or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful — maybe the perfect blond girl, or the bronze-haired boy. Were they like me? No, there was no way that could be possible. Charlie would know if there were more of us here in Forks. Right?

They were all looking away — away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray — unopened soda, unbitten apple — and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

"Who are they ?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten.

As she looked up to see who I meant — though already knowing, probably, from my tone — suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the boyish one, the youngest, perhaps.

He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine.

He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest — it was as if she had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer. A smirk came to my lips as I attempted to hold in my laughter. They are definitely _not_ human. 

My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.

"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." She said this under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt he was speaking quietly to them.

Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here — small town names? I wasn’t one to judge, being named Beaufort and all. I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home.

"They are… very nice-looking." I struggled with the conspicuous understatement.

"Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. "They're all together though — Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related…"

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins — the blondes — and they're foster children." The perfect cover.

"They look a little old for foster children." That was the understatement of the century. 

"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that."

"That's really kind of nice — for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything." They probably haven’t been that young in decades, maybe even centuries. 

"I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. Classic. I would have fun feeding off her. Jealousy seemed to be her default setting. 

"I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she added, as if that lessened their kindness. Self centered brats are always so delicious. 

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat. I hadn’t met many entities that didn’t at least nibble on food even if it didn’t provide nourishment.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. I highly doubted this to be the case. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here. Playing dumb was safer than making too perfect of an assumption. Humans aren’t that dumb. 

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard.

As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation. 

"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" I asked. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today — he had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again. _Keep pretending to be a nervous wreck of a person,_ I told myself.

"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. He doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him." She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wondered when he'd turned her down. Why'd she include me in that girl grouping? 

I bit my lip to hide my smile. She clearly was one to make assumptions. I glanced at him again. His face was turned away, but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he were smiling, too. _I know, it's pretty funny. The way humans are so fickle._ I shook my head to stop the imaginary conversation away. 

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful — even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn't look at me again. Interesting. 

I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too. Well, she was actually shy. Not that it was too difficult to emulate. To be fair, I had had several lifetimes to perfect it. 

When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat. I guess sitting next to one of the more interesting characters in Forks was a perk of being new. 

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face — it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled. 

I'd noticed that his eyes were black — coal black. Were my charms ineffective for him? If that had been the case, why didn’t he react in the cafeteria?

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he'd given me. 

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. I sniffed the air. Could he smell me?

I felt the need to reach into his energy, his thoughts if I was lucky. Maybe then I could understand his reaction. 

My whole body felt like it had been bathed in a lake of lava. Heat and pain coiled together in my gut like a messed up version of snake wrapping around prey. I rested my forehead on my forearm. My breathes came out rushed and with little space between. Most probably assumed it was panic or illness as opposed to arousal. 

Edward was no longer Edward. He was a man, whose desire was so evident, that if I were to ignore it, I would surely die. He did not matter. Only the relief he could provide me was important now. I squeezed my thighs together in a half assed attempt to bring myself some sort of relief, but I had only succeeded in aggravating the issue further. Sharp stabbing pains began to spread through my lower half, leaving my lower extremities numb and immobile. 

Maybe I could get myself under control enough to lure him to a bathroom, or maybe I could convince him to help me to the nurse’s office. It would be easy enough to course correct once I got him to take me out of the classroom. And he would follow me. A pretty, tiny, effeminate boy practically begging to be fucked would be strong enough to lure even the most celibate of men. The pheromones would only insure that Edward Cullen would be ensnared. 

I could have him carry me to my truck — no, his car. We could always do it in the car in the parking lot, but that was always risky. Once we get in his car, I could tease him; I could convince him to take the car somewhere more private, and then —

I couldn't stop myself from peeking at the strange boy next to me. He never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly brother.

I coughed, choking down the moan that came to my throat. Could he smell me the way I could smell him? I felt the desires of the other students in the classroom rise. They had physically registered my stench, whether or not they were able to tell that the scent even existed or belonged to me. 

I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. My gut twisted painfully. The little sharp pains were now magnified to full blown spasms. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind.

“Beau? Are you alright?” Mr. Banner’s voice cut through the haze. 

I raised my head, heat rising to my face as I mustered what strength I had to speak.

“N-no, I feel rather quite ill.” _Just get me out of this room already._

I did not have the wherewithal to bother paying attention to who Mr. Banner directed to take me out of the classroom. The boy, I could tell that much at least, came up next to me and grabbed my stuff for me. I slid from my chair and immediately collapsed to the floor into a panting pile of flesh on the floor. As I crashed into the floor, a yelp escaped from my throat. My insides had knotted up even further. I needed out of that wretched room. 

I was not prepared. Two pairs of hands helped me to my feet. One pair felt warm. Not nearly the equivalent to my rapidly increasing body temp, but they had felt warm enough. The second pair of hands were ice cold. The varying temperature was starling enough. The effect they had on my deteriorated physical state was worse. If my body had felt like lava before, it felt ten times hotter in that moment. I remember vaguely that I jumped away from the second pair of hands. Past that, I did not remember how I made it to the nurses office. 

When I had finally come to, I was sprawled out across the laminated cot in the nurse’s office. Her voice was old and gentle. I responded to her questions on auto-pilot. I didn’t need to pay attention to know what questions she was asking and why, and I frankly did not possess the patience to try to seem attentive to any degree. She handed me a glucose gel packet, and informed me my father had been contacted. I slurped down the disgusting sludge. Pretending to have human diseases sucked. 

"Aren't you Beaufort Swan?" a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. A little too friendly. 

"Beau," I corrected him, with a small smile.

"I'm Mike."

"Hi, Mike."

"How are you feeling?" He shoved his hands into his pockets as he continued to stare at me. 

"Much better." I let out a shaky breath. 

"That's a relief. I had to literally carry you in here.” His laugh was warm and pleasant. A temptation I did not need right now. 

"So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that," he asked. 

I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.

"Yes," he said. "He looked like he was in pain or something."

"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to him."

"He's a weird guy." Mike gravitated closer as I sat up. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

I smiled at him before standing up. His hands shot out, and I grabbed them for support. He was friendly and clearly admiring. The exact opposite of what I wanted right now. He helped me get to the office. 

“I think I’ve got it from here,” I said as I pulled away from him. 

“You sure? I’d be more than happy to help you get wherever.” He was being a bit too pushy for comfort. 

“I’m good. My dad should be here soon to pick me up anyway.” 

“Oh, well, uh alright then.” His body language immediately changed. His posture was stiff, uncomfortable, and he put a good few feet of distance between us. Dads always work as a deterrent. 

“I’ll see you later then. And, hey, you owe me Swan. I single handedly just saved your ass.” _That sweet, sweet piece of ass,_ He thought. A shiver went down my spine. 

“Yeah, later,” I mumbled.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that tousled bronze hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free. A slight ache began to grow inside me. I ignored it the best I could. 

He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. _Stop thinking that about him!_

I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time — any other time.

I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me. Unless he was trying to avoid temptation like I was. That I could have empathized with. 

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my loose hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me — his face was absurdly handsome — with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist. My insides twisted up as I stared at his attractive back. 

"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." He turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.

I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced.

“I heard you had a bit of a spell.” A bit was a vast understatement.

“I’m better now.” I chewed on my lip. A bad habit I’ve never been able to break. 

“Why don’t you have a seat sweetheart? Your dad should be here soon.” She smiled sweetly.

I nodded, and took up residence in the nearest seat. I continued to chew my lip. 

So, it wasn’t an isolated incident. There was something about Edward Cullen that was inherently alluring to me. What was it? In all honesty, he wasn’t all that special. I’ve had my choice of men.

I needed to do something. A repeat of today could not be afforded. I could not allow myself to accidentally kill Edward Cullen. 

I was thankful when Charlie walked in the office doors. He signed me out, and then we went outside to the cruiser. 

“How are we getting the truck?” I climbed into the passenger seat. 

“I’ll bring you to school tomorrow morning. You can drive it home tomorrow.” Charlie turned the key in the ignition. 

We got out of the parking lot and halfway to the house before he said anything. 

“How long has it been?” He stared out the window.

“Too long,” I replied. I was starving. It was evident in my sickly appearance. I did not look normal. 

“I have something to tide you over until you can feed properly.” We pulled into the driveway and headed into the house. I sat at the dining table, dropping my bag that I had forgotten I even had. 

Charlie pulled a blood bag from the fridge. He turned on the sink and warmed the bag under the water. 

“How did you get that?” I sat up straight, itching to get ahold of the delicious liquid in that thick plastic bag. He emptied the bag into a large coffee mug. He dumped the bag into a trash can, then sat with me at the table before sliding the mug over to me. I grabbed the cup clumsily and chugged like it was water and I hadn’t had it in weeks. 

“We will talk about that later.” He watched me drink every last drop. I even went so far as to lick the mug clean. 

“Better?” he asked. I nodded, licking the last remnants of blood from my lips.

“Much better.” He stood and kissed my forehead. 

“Go to bed, bud. You've got a long day tomorrow.” I wasn’t going to argue with that. Today had been too taxing to argue. As soon as I flopped into bed, sleep took me.


	2. First Sight (Edward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screw it, I decided to upload a second chapter today. I still want to keep a backlog of chapters, but I figured what the hell? I also finished chapters 4/5 in Twilight and Midnight Sun, which, like i said, was a major turning point in this story. 
> 
> So yeah, have another chapter.

This was the time of day I most wished I were able to sleep. 

High school.

Or was purgatory the right word? If there were any way to atone for my sins, this ought to count toward the tally in some measure. The tedium was not something I grew used to; every day seemed more impossibly monotonous than the last.

Perhaps this could even be considered my form of sleep—if sleep was defined as the inert state between active periods.

I stared at the cracks running through the plaster in the far corner of the cafeteria, imagining patterns into them that were not there. It was one way to tune out the voices that babbled like the gush of a river inside my head.

Several hundred of these voices I ignored out of boredom.

When it came to the human mind, I’d heard it all before and then some. Today, all thoughts were consumed with the trivial drama of a new addition to the small student body. It took so little to work them up. I’d seen the new face repeated in thought after thought from every angle. Just an ordinary human boy. The excitement over his arrival was tiresomely predictable—it was the same reaction as one would get from flashing a shiny object at a group of toddlers. Half the sheep-like females and males were already imagining themselves infatuated with him, just because he was something new to look at. I tried harder to tune them out.

Only four voices did I block out of courtesy rather than distaste: my family, my two brothers and two sisters, who were so used to the lack of privacy in my presence that they rarely worried about it. I gave them what I could. I tried not to listen if I could help it.

Try as I may, still… I knew.

Rosalie was thinking, as usual, about herself—her mind was a stagnant pool with few surprises. She’d caught sight of her profile in the reflection off someone’s glasses, and she was mulling over her own perfection. No one else’s hair was closer to true gold, no one else’s shape was quite so perfectly an hourglass, no one else’s face was such a flawless, symmetrical oval. She didn’t compare herself to the humans here; that juxtaposition would have been laughable, absurd. She thought of others like us, none of them her equal.

Emmett’s usually carefree expression was crumpled with frustration. Even now, he ran one enormous hand through his ebony curls, twisting the hair into his fist. Still fuming over the wrestling match he’d lost to Jasper during the night. It would take all his limited patience to make it to the end of the school day to orchestrate a rematch. Hearing Emmett’s thoughts never felt intrusive, because he never thought one thing that he would not say aloud or put into action. Perhaps I only felt guilty reading the others’ minds because I knew there were things inside that they wouldn’t want me to know. If Rosalie’s mind was a stagnant pool, then Emmett’s was a lake with no shadows, glass clear.

And Jasper was… suffering. I suppressed a sigh.

_ Edward.  _ Alice called my name in her head and had my attention at once.

It was just the same as having my name called aloud. I was glad my given name had fallen out of style in the last few decades—it had been annoying in the past; anytime anyone thought of any Edward, my head would turn automatically.

My head didn’t turn now. Alice and I were good at these private conversations. It was rare that anyone caught us. I kept my eyes on the lines in the plaster.

_ How is he holding up? _ she asked me.

I frowned, just a small change in the set of my mouth. Nothing that would tip the others off. I could easily be frowning out of boredom.

Jasper had been still for too long. He wasn’t performing human ticks the way we all must, constantly in motion so as not to stand out, like Emmett pulling at his hair, Rosalie crossing her legs first one way then the next, Alice tapping her toes against the linoleum, or me, moving my head to stare at different patterns in the wall. Jasper looked paralyzed, his lean form ramrod straight, even his honey hair seeming not to react to the air wafting from the vents.

Alice’s mental tone was alarmed now, and I saw in her mind that she was watching Jasper in her peripheral vision. 

_ Is there any danger? _ She searched ahead into the immediate future, skimming through visions of monotony for the source behind my frown. Even as she did so, she remembered to tuck one tiny fist under her sharp chin and blink regularly. She brushed a tuft of her short, jagged black hair out of her eyes.

I turned my head slowly to the left, as if looking at the bricks of the wall, sighed, and then turned to the right, back to the cracks in the ceiling. The others would assume I was playing human. Only Alice knew I was shaking my head.

She relaxed.  _ Let me know if it gets too bad. _

I moved only my eyes, up to the ceiling above, and back down.

_ Thanks for doing this. _

I was glad I couldn’t answer her aloud. What would I say? My pleasure? It was hardly that. I didn’t enjoy tuning in to Jasper’s struggles. Was it really necessary to experiment this way? Wouldn’t the safer path be to just admit that he might never be able to handle his thirst as well as the rest of us could, and not push his limits? Why flirt with disaster?

It had been two weeks since our last hunting trip. That was not an immensely difficult time span for the rest of us. A little uncomfortable occasionally—if a human walked too close, if the wind blew the wrong way. But humans rarely walked too close. Their instincts told them what their conscious minds would never understand: We were a danger that must be avoided.

Jasper was very dangerous right now.

It did not happen often, but every now and then I would be struck by the obliviousness of the humans around us. We were all so accustomed to it, we always expected it, but occasionally it seemed more glaring than usual. None of them noticed us here, lounging at the battered cafeteria table, though an ambush of tigers sprawled in our places would be less lethal than we were. All they saw were five odd-looking people, close enough to human to pass. It was hard to imagine surviving with senses so incredibly dull.

At that moment, a small girl paused at the end of the closest table to ours, stopping to talk to a friend. She tossed her short, sandy hair, combing her fingers through it. The heaters blew her scent in our direction. I was used to the way that scent made me feel—the dry ache in my throat, the hollow yearn in my stomach, the automatic tightening of my muscles, the excess flow of venom in my mouth.

I 

This was all quite normal, usually easy to ignore. It was harder just now, with the reactions stronger, doubled, as I monitored Jasper.

Jasper was letting his imagination get away from him. He was picturing it—picturing himself getting up from his seat next to Alice and going to stand beside the little girl. Thinking of leaning down and in, as if he were going to whisper in her ear, and letting his lips touch the arch of her throat. Imagining how the hot flow of her pulse beneath the weak barrier of her skin would feel under his mouth…

I kicked his chair.

He met my gaze, his black eyes resentful for a second, and then looked down. I could hear shame and rebellion war in his head.

“Sorry,” Jasper muttered.

I shrugged.

“You weren’t going to do anything,” Alice murmured to him, soothing his mortification. “I could see that.”

I fought back the frown that would give her lie away. We had to stick together, Alice and I. It wasn’t easy, being the freaks among those who were already freaks. We protected each other’s secrets.

“It helps a little if you think of them as people,” Alice suggested, her high, musical voice racing too fast for human ears to understand, if any had been close enough to hear. “Her name is Whitney. She has a baby sister she adores. Her mother invited Esme to that garden party, do you remember?”

“I know who she is,” Jasper said curtly. He turned away to stare out one of the small windows that were spaced just under the eaves around the long room. His tone ended the conversation.

He would have to hunt tonight. It was ridiculous to take risks like this, trying to test his strength, to build his endurance. Jasper should just accept his limitations and work within them.

Alice sighed silently and stood, taking her tray of food—her prop, as it were—with her and leaving him alone. She knew when he’d had enough of her encouragement. Though Rosalie and Emmett were more flagrant about their relationship, it was Alice and Jasper who knew each other’s every need as well as their own. As if they could read minds, too—but only each other’s.

_ Edward. _

Reflex reaction. I turned to the sound of my name being called, though it wasn’t being called, just thought.

My eyes locked for half a second with a pair of large, icy blue human eyes set in a pale, heart-shaped face. I knew the face, though I’d never seen it myself before this moment. It had been foremost in every human head today. The new student, Beaufort Swan. Son of the town’s chief of police, brought to live here by some new custody situation. Beau. He’d corrected everyone who’d used his full name.

I looked away, bored. It took me a second to realize that he had not been the one to think my name.

_ Of course he’s already crushing on the Cullens _ , I heard the first thought continue.

Now I recognize the “voice.”

Jessica Stanley—it had been a while since she’d bothered me with her internal chatter. What a relief it had been when she’d gotten over her misplaced fixation. It used to be nearly impossible to escape her constant, ridiculous daydreams. I’d wished, at the time, that I could explain to her exactly what would have happened if my lips, and the teeth behind them, had gotten anywhere near her. That would have silenced those annoying fantasies. The thought of her reaction almost made me smile.

_ Fat lot of good it will do him _ , Jessica went on.  _ He’s really not even pretty. I don’t know why Eric is staring so much… or Mike. _

She flinched mentally on the latter name. Her new obsession, the generically popular Mike Newton, was completely oblivious to her. Apparently, he was not as oblivious to the new boy, which was a new but unsurprising development. 

Another child reaching for the shiny object. This put a mean edge to Jessica’s thoughts, though she was outwardly cordial to the newcomer as she explained to him the commonly held knowledge about my family. The new student must have asked about us.

_ Everyone’s looking at me today, too _ , Jessica thought smugly.  _ Isn’t it lucky Beau has two classes with me? I’ll bet Mike will want to ask me what he’s— _

I tried to block the inane chatter out of my head before the petty and the trivial could drive me mad.

“Jessica Stanley is giving the new Swan boy all the dirty laundry on the Cullen clan,” I murmured to Emmett as a distraction.

He chuckled under his breath.  _ I hope she’s making it good _ , he thought.

“Rather unimaginative, actually. Just the barest hint of scandal. Not an ounce of horror. I’m a little disappointed.”

_ And the new boy? Is he disappointed in the gossip as well? _

I listened to hear what this new boy, Beau, thought of Jessica’s story. What did he see when he looked at the strange, chalky-skinned family that was universally avoided?

It was my responsibility to know his reaction. I acted as a lookout, for lack of a better word, for my family. To protect us. If anyone ever grew suspicious, I could give us early warning and an easy retreat. It happened occasionally—some human with an active imagination would see in us the characters of a book or a movie. Usually they got it wrong, but it was better to move on somewhere new than to risk scrutiny. Rarely, extremely rarely, someone would guess right. We didn’t give them a chance to test their hypothesis. We simply disappeared, to become no more than a frightening memory.

That hadn’t happened for decades.

I heard nothing, though I listened close beside where Jessica’s frivolous internal monologue continued to gush. It was as if there were no one sitting beside her. How peculiar. Had the boy moved? That didn’t seem likely, as Jessica was still babbling at him. I looked up, feeling off-balance. Checking on my extra “hearing”—it wasn’t something I ever had to do.

Again, my gaze locked onto those wide blue eyes. He was sitting right where he had been before and looking at us—a natural thing to be doing, I supposed, as Jessica was still regaling her with the local gossip about the Cullens.

Thinking about us, too, would be natural.

But I couldn’t hear a whisper.

Warm, inviting red stained his cheeks as he looked down, away from the embarrassing gaffe of getting caught staring at a stranger, while a small smirk danced along his lips. It was good that Jasper was still gazing out the window. I didn’t like to imagine what that easy pooling of blood would do to his control.

The emotions had been as clear on his face as if they were spelled out in words: surprise, as he unknowingly absorbed the signs of the subtle differences between his kind and mine; curiosity, as he listened to Jessica’s tale; and something more… Fascination? It wouldn’t be the first time. We were beautiful to them, our intended prey. Then, finally, the embarrassment. But there was something else there; something I couldn’t place. 

And yet, though his thoughts had been so clear in his odd eyes—odd because of the depth to them—I could hear only silence from the place he was sitting. Just… silence.

I felt a moment of unease.

This was nothing I’d ever encountered. Was there something wrong with me? I felt exactly the same as I always did. Worried, I listened harder.

All the voices I’d been blocking were suddenly shouting in my head.

_ … wonder what music he likes… maybe I could mention my new CD… _ Mike Newton was thinking, two tables away—focused on Beau Swan.

_ Look at him staring at him. Isn’t it enough that he has half the girls in school waiting for him to… _ Eric Yorkie’s thoughts were caustic and also revolving around the boy.

_ … so disgusting. You’d think he was famous or something.… Even Edward Cullen staring.… _ Lauren Mallory was so jealous that her face, by all rights, should be dark jade in color. And Jessica, flaunting her new best friend. What a joke… Vitriol continued to spew from the girl’s thoughts.

_ … I bet everyone has asked him that. But I’d like to talk to him. What’s something more original?  _ Ashley Dowling mused.

_ … maybe he’ll be in my Spanish… _ June Richardson hoped.

_ … tons left to do tonight! Trig, and the English test. I hope my mom… _ Angela Webber, a quiet girl whose thoughts were unusually kind, was the only one at the table who wasn’t obsessed with this Beau.

I could hear them all, hear every insignificant thing they were thinking as it passed through their minds. But nothing at all from the new student with the deceptively communicative eyes.

And of course, I could hear what the boy said when he spoke to Jessica. I didn’t have to read minds to be able to hear his low, clear voice on the far side of the long room.

“Which one is the boy with the reddish-brown hair?” I heard him ask, sneaking another look at me from the corner of his eye, only to glance quickly away when he saw that I was still staring.

If I’d had time to hope that hearing the sound of his voice would help me pinpoint the tone of his thoughts, I was instantly disappointed. Usually, people’s thoughts came to them in a similar pitch to their physical voices. But this quiet, shy voice was unfamiliar, not one of the hundreds of thoughts bouncing around the room, I was sure of that. Entirely new.

_ Oh, good luck, idiot! _ Jessica thought before answering the boy’s question. “That’s Edward. He’s gorgeous, of course, but don’t waste your time. He doesn’t date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.” She snorted quietly.

I turned my head away to hide my smile. Jessica and her classmates had no idea how lucky they were that none of them particularly appealed to me.

Beneath the transient humor, I felt a strange impulse, one I did not clearly understand. It had something to do with the vicious edge to Jessica’s thoughts that the new boy was unaware of.… I felt the strangest urge to step in between them, to shield Beau Swan from the darker workings of Jessica’s mind. What an odd thing to feel. Trying to ferret out the motivations behind the impulse, I examined the new boy one more time, through Jessica’s eyes now. My staring had attracted too much attention.

Perhaps it was just some long-buried protective instinct—the strong for the weak. Somehow, this boy looked more fragile than his new classmates. His skin was so translucent it was hard to believe it offered him much defense from the outside world. I could see the rhythmic pulse of blood through his veins under the clear, pale membrane.… But I should not concentrate on that. I was good at this life I’d chosen, but I was just as thirsty as Jasper and there was no point in inviting temptation.

There was a faint crease between his eyebrows that he seemed unaware of.

It was unbelievably frustrating! I could easily see that it was a strain for him to sit there, to make conversation with strangers, to be the center of attention. I could sense his shyness from the way he held his frail-looking shoulders, slightly hunched, as if he was expecting a rebuff at any moment. And yet I could only see, could only sense, could only imagine. There was nothing but silence from the very unexceptional human boy. I could hear nothing. Why?

“Shall we?” Rosalie murmured, interrupting my focus.

I turned my mind away from the boy with a sense of relief. I didn’t want to continue to fail at this—failure was a rare thing for me, and even more irritating than it was uncommon. I didn’t want to develop any interest in his hidden thoughts simply because they were hidden. No doubt when I did decipher them—and I would find a way to do so—they would be just as petty and trivial as any human’s. Not worth the effort I would expend to reach them. 

“So, is the new one afraid of us yet?” Emmett asked, still waiting for my response to his earlier question.

I shrugged. He wasn’t interested enough to press for more information.

We got up from the table and walked out of the cafeteria.

Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper were pretending to be seniors; they left for their classes. I was playing a younger role than they. I headed off for my junior-level Biology lesson, preparing my mind for the tedium. It was doubtful Mr. Banner, a man of no more than average intellect, would manage to pull out anything in his lecture that would surprise someone holding two medical degrees.

In the classroom, I settled into my chair and let my books—props, again; they held nothing I didn’t already know—spill across the table. I was the only student who had a table to himself. The humans weren’t smart enough to know that they feared me, but their innate survival instincts were enough to keep them away.

The room slowly filled as they trickled in from lunch. I leaned back in my chair and waited for the time to pass. Again, I wished I were able to sleep.

Because I’d been thinking about the new boy, when Angela Weber escorted him through the door, his name intruded on my attention.

_ Beau seems just as shy as me. I’ll bet today is really hard for him. I wish I could say something… but it would probably just sound stupid. _

_ Yes! _ Mike Newton thought, turning in his seat to watch them enter.

Still, from the place where Beau Swan stood, nothing. The empty space where his thoughts should be vexed and unnerved me.

What if it all went away? What if this was just the first symptom of some kind of mental decline?

I’d often wished that I could escape the cacophony. That I could be normal—as far as that was possible for me. But now I felt panicked at the thought. Who would I be without what I could do? I’d never heard of such a thing. I would see if Carlisle had.

The boy walked down the aisle beside me, headed to the teacher’s desk. Poor boy; the seat next to me was the only one available. Automatically, I cleared what would be his side of the table, shoving my books into a pile. I doubted he would feel very comfortable there. He was in for a long semester—in this class, at least. Perhaps, though, sitting beside him, I’d be able to flush out his thoughts’ hiding place… not that I’d ever needed close proximity before. Not that I would find anything worth listening to.

Beau Swan walked into the flow of heated air that blew toward me from the vent.

His scent hit me like a battering ram, like an exploding grenade. There was no image violent enough to encompass the force of what happened to me in that moment.

Instantly, I was transformed. I was nothing close to the human I’d once been. No trace of the shreds of humanity I’d managed to cloak myself in over the years remained.

I was a predator. He was my prey. There was nothing else in the whole world but that truth.

There was no room full of witnesses—they were already collateral damage in my mind. The mystery of his thoughts was forgotten. His thoughts meant nothing, for he would not go on thinking them much longer.

I was a vampire, and he had the sweetest blood I’d smelled in more than eighty years.

I hadn’t imagined that such a scent could exist. If I’d known it did, I would have gone searching for it long ago. I would have scoured the planet for it. I could imagine the taste.…

Thirst burned through my throat like fire. My mouth felt baked and desiccated, and the fresh flow of venom did nothing to dispel that sensation. My stomach twisted with the hunger that was an echo of the thirst. My muscles coiled to spring.

Not a full second had passed. He was still taking the same step that had put him downwind from me.

As his foot touched the ground, his eyes slid toward me, a movement he clearly meant to be stealthy. His gaze met mine, and I saw myself reflected in the mirror of his eyes.

The shock of the face I saw there saved his life for a few thorny moments.

He didn’t make it easier. When he processed the expression on my face, blood flooded his cheeks again, turning his skin the most delicious color I’d ever seen. The scent was a thick haze in my brain. I could barely think through it. My instincts raged, resisting control, incoherent.

He walked more quickly now, as if he understood the need to escape. His haste made him clumsy—he tripped and stumbled forward, almost falling into the girl seated in front of me. Vulnerable, weak. Even more than usual for a human.

I tried to focus on the face I’d seen in his eyes, a face I recognized with revulsion. The face of the monster inside me—the face I’d beaten back with decades of effort and uncompromising discipline. How easily it sprang to the surface now!

The scent swirled around me again, scattering my thoughts and nearly propelling me out of my seat.

No.

My hand gripped under the edge of the table as I tried to hold myself in my chair. The wood was not up to the task. 

My hand crushed through the strut and came away with a palmful of splintered pulp, leaving the shape of my fingers carved into the remaining wood.

Destroy evidence. That was a fundamental rule. I quickly pulverized the edges of the shape with my fingertips, leaving nothing but a ragged hole and a pile of shavings on the floor, which I scattered with my foot.

Destroy evidence. Collateral damage…

I knew what had to happen now. The boy would have to come sit beside me, and I would have to kill him.

The innocent bystanders in this classroom, eighteen other children and one man, could not be allowed to leave, having seen what they would soon see.

I flinched at the thought of what I must do. Even at my very worst, I had never committed this kind of atrocity. I had never killed innocents. And now I planned to slaughter twenty of them at once.

The face of the monster in my reflection mocked me.

Even as part of me shuddered away from him, another part was planning what would happen next.

If I killed the boy first, I would have only fifteen or twenty seconds with him before the humans in the room reacted. Maybe a little longer if at first they did not realize what I was doing. He would not have time to scream or feel pain; I would not kill him cruelly. That much I could give this stranger with his horribly desirable blood.

But then I would have to stop them from escaping. I wouldn’t have to worry about the windows, too high up and small to provide an escape for anyone. Just the door—block that and they were trapped.

It would be slower and more difficult, trying to take them all down when they were panicked and scrambling, moving in chaos. Not impossible, but there would be much more noise. Time for lots of screaming. Someone would hear… and I’d be forced to kill even more innocents in this black hour.

And his blood would cool while I murdered the others.

The scent punished me, closing my throat with dry aching.…

So the witnesses first, then.

I mapped it out in my head. I was in the middle of the room, the row farthest from the front. I would take my right side first. I could snap four or five of their necks per second, I estimated. It would not be noisy. The right side would be the lucky side; they would not see me coming. Moving around the front and back down the left side, it would take me, at most, five seconds to end every life in this room.

Long enough for Beau Swan to see, briefly, what was coming for him. Long enough for him to feel fear. Long enough, maybe, if shock didn’t freeze him in place, for him to work up a scream. One soft scream that would not bring anyone running.

I took a deep breath, and the scent was a fire that raced through my dry veins, burning out from my chest to consume every better impulse that I was capable of.

He was just turning now. In a few seconds, he would sit down inches away from me.

The monster in my head exulted.

Someone slammed shut a folder on my left. I didn’t look up to see which of the doomed humans it was, but the motion sent a wave of ordinary, unscented air wafting across my face.

For one short second, I was able to think clearly. In that precious instant, I saw two faces in my head, side by side.

One was mine, or rather had been: the red-eyed monster that had killed so many people that I’d stopped counting. Rationalized, justified murders. I had been a killer of killers, a killer of other, less powerful monsters. It was a god complex, I acknowledged that—deciding who deserved a death sentence. It was a compromise with myself. I had fed on human blood, but only by the loosest definition. My victims were, in their various dark pastimes, barely more human than I was.

The other face was Carlisle’s.

There was no resemblance between the two faces. They were bright day and blackest night.

There was no reason for a resemblance to exist. Carlisle was not my father in the basic biological sense. We shared no common features. The similarity in our coloring was a product of what we were; every vampire was corpse-pale. 

The similarity in the color of our eyes was another matter—a reflection of a mutual choice.

And yet, though there was no basis for a resemblance, I’d imagined that my face had begun to reflect his, to an extent, in the last seventy-odd years that I had embraced his choice and followed in his steps. My features had not changed, but it seemed to me as though some of his wisdom had marked my expression, a little of his compassion could be traced in the set of my mouth, and hints of his patience were evident on my brow.

All those tiny improvements were lost in the monster’s face. In a few moments, there would be nothing left in me that would reflect the years I’d spent with my creator, my mentor, my father in all the ways that counted. My eyes would glow red as a devil’s; all likeness would be lost forever.

In my head, Carlisle’s kind eyes did not judge me. I knew that he would forgive me for this horrible act.

Because he loved me. Because he thought I was better than I was.

Beau Swan sat down in the chair next to me, his movements stiff and awkward—no doubt with fear—and the scent of his blood bloomed in an inescapable cloud around me.

I would prove my father wrong about me. The misery of this fact hurt almost as much as the fire in my throat.

I leaned away from him in revulsion—disgusted by the monster aching to take him.

Why did he have to come here? Why did he have to exist? Why did he have to ruin the little peace I had in this nonlife of mine? Why had this aggravating human ever been born? He would ruin me.

I turned my face away from him as a sudden fierce, irrational hatred washed through me.

I didn’t want to be the monster! I didn’t want to kill this roomful of harmless children! I didn’t want to lose everything I’d gained in a lifetime of sacrifice and denial!

I wouldn’t.

He couldn’t make me.

The scent was the problem, the hideously appealing scent of his blood. If there was only some way to resist… if only another gust of fresh air could clear my head.

Beau Swan shook out his long, thick mahogany hair in my direction.

Was he insane?

No, there was no helpful breeze. But I didn’t have to breathe.

I stopped the flow of air through my lungs. The relief was instantaneous, but incomplete. I still had the memory of the scent in my head, the taste of it on the back of my tongue. I wouldn’t be able to resist even that for long.

Every life in this room was in danger while he and I were in it together. I should run. I wanted to run, to get away from the heat of him next to me, and the punishing pain of the burning, but I wasn’t one hundred percent sure that if I unlocked my muscles to move, even just to stand, I wouldn’t lash out and commit the slaughter I’d already planned.

But perhaps I could resist for an hour. Would one hour be enough time to gain control to move without striking? I doubted, then forced myself to commit. I would make it enough. Just enough time to get out of this room full of victims, victims that perhaps didn’t have to be victims. If I could resist for one short hour.

It was an uncomfortable feeling, not breathing. My body did not need oxygen, but it went against my instincts. I relied on scent more than my other senses in times of stress. It led the way in the hunt; it was the first warning in case of danger. I did not often come across something as dangerous as I was, but self-preservation was just as strong in my kind as it was in the average human.

Uncomfortable, but manageable. More bearable than smelling him and not sinking my teeth through that fine, thin, see-through skin to the hot, wet, pulsing—

An hour! Just one hour. I must not think of the scent, the taste.

The silent boy kept his loose hair between us, leaning forward so that it spilled across his folder. He rested his forehead against his forearm. I couldn’t see his face to try to read the emotions in his clear, deep eyes. Was he trying to hide those eyes from me? Out of fear? Shyness? To keep his secrets?

My former irritation at being stymied by his soundless thoughts was weak and pale in comparison to the need—and the hate—that possessed me now. For I hated this frail boy beside me, hated him with all the fervor with which I clung to my former self, my love of my family, my dreams of being something better than what I was. Hating him, hating how he made me feel—it helped a little. Yes, the irritation I’d felt before was weak, but it, too, helped a little. I clung to any thought that distracted me from imagining what he would taste like.…

Hate and irritation. Impatience. Would the hour never pass?

And when the hour ended… he would walk out of this room. And I would do what?

If I could control the monster, make him see that the delay would be worth it… I could introduce myself. Hello, my name is Edward Cullen. May I walk you to your next class?

He would say yes. It would be the polite thing to do. Even already fearing me, as I was sure he did, he would follow convention and walk beside me. It should be easy enough to lead him in the wrong direction. A spur of the forest reached out like a finger to touch the back corner of the parking lot. I could tell him I’d forgotten a book in my car.…

Would anyone notice that I was the last person he’d been seen with? It was raining, as usual. Two dark raincoats heading in the wrong direction wouldn’t pique too much interest or give me away.

Except that I was not the only student who was aware of him today—though no one was as blisteringly aware as I. Mike Newton, in particular, was conscious of every shift in his weight as he fidgeted in his chair—he was uncomfortable so close to me, just as anyone would be, just as I’d expected before his scent had destroyed all charitable concern. Mike Newton would notice if he left the classroom with me.

If I could last an hour, could I last two?

I flinched at the pain of the burning.

He would go home to an empty house. Police Chief Swan worked an eight-hour day. I knew his house, as I knew every house in the tiny town. His home was nestled right up against thick woods, with no close neighbors. Even if he had time to scream, which he would not, there would be no one to hear.

That would be the responsible way to deal with this. I’d gone more than seven decades without human blood. If I held my breath, I could last two hours. And when I had him alone, there would be no chance of anyone else getting hurt. And no reason to rush through the experience, the monster in my head agreed.

It was sophistry to think that by saving the nineteen humans in this room with effort and patience, I would be less of a monster when I killed this innocent boy.

Though I hated him, I was absolutely aware that my hatred was unjust. I knew that what I really hated was myself. And I would hate us both so much more when he was dead.

He peeked up at me through the fluid wall of his hair. I could feel the unjustified hatred burning out of me as I met his gaze—see the reflection of it in his frightened eyes. Blood painted his cheek before he could hide in his hair again, and I was nearly undone.

That was when I noticed just how uncomfortable he truly was. Had he gotten hotter? Small breaths escaped his lips. I found myself having an entirely new fantasy now, as I stared as his parted deep pink lips. One where I would capture his lips. One where his body was underneath me and I would do anything and every I pleased. And a whole new wave of horror washed over me as I became hyper aware of his every movement. He pressed his thighs together, and a whimper escaped his lips. A cough covered a completely different sound. One I did not expect to hear. 

Now, I had a completely different reason to be on edge. He looked up at me one last time. Interest and curiosity swirled together inside me. Mr. Banner’s voice saved me from further idiocy. 

“Beau? Are you alright?” Mr. Banner’s voice cut through my trance. 

The boy raised his head a clear flush making his entire face red. His response was shaky and full of air. 

“N-no, I feel rather quite ill.” 

“Mike, take Beau to the nurse.” _I know he has diabetes. If he is having low blood sugar, he needs to see the nurse._

Mike Newton promptly jumped up from his seat. He was right beside the boy in a flash. Mike Newton gathered the boy’s stuff into his bag. In his attempt to get away from me, the boy slid from the chair and crumpled to the floor.

He yelped when he made contact with the linoleum floor. And I shot up from my seat on instinct. I had completely forgotten why I was so keen on keeping my distance. I may be a monster, but I didn’t have to act like one. 

Mike and I raised the boy up from his place on the floor. He groaned in pain. Had I grabbed him too hard? I was certain I hadn’t done anything of the sort…

His strength was surprising as he ripped away from my grasp and shoved me back into my chair. Did he hate me that much? Why was I concerned about his hatred? It was better if he just stayed away… 

Then, a small whisper assaulted my ear drums. 

“Please, Edward, it hurts.” He had a wild and desperate look in his eyes. Now the monster inside me had begun to calculate different plans. 

Mike Newton lifted the boy into his arms and carried him from the room. The monster smirked, delighting in just how easy it would be to overpower such a frail and weak boy. 

I fought every urge that told me to chase after him. I stared forward at nothing in particular. I locked my jaw shut, clenching and unclenching my fist as the class marched on. 

But the bell rang. And we—how cliché—were saved. Him, from death. I, for just a short time, from being the nightmarish creature I feared and loathed.

Now I had to move.

Even focusing all my attention on the simplest of actions, I couldn’t walk as slowly as I should; I darted from the room. If anyone had been looking, they might have suspected that there was something not right about my exit. No one was paying attention to me; all thoughts still swirled around the boy who was condemned to die in little more than an hour’s time.

I hid in my car.

I didn’t like to think of myself as having to hide. How cowardly that sounded. But I didn’t have enough discipline left to be around humans now. Focusing so much of my efforts on not killing one of them left me no resources to resist the others. What a waste that would be. If I were to give in to the monster, I might as well make it worth the defeat.

I played a CD that usually calmed me, but it did little for me now. No, what helped most was the cool, wet air that drifted with the light rain through my open windows. Though I could remember the scent of Beau Swan’s blood and my disgusting fantasies with perfect clarity, inhaling this clean air was like washing out the inside of my body from its infection.

I was sane again. I could think again. And I could fight again. I could fight what I didn’t want to be.

I didn’t have to go to his home. I didn’t have to kill him. I didn’t have to rape him. Obviously, I was a rational, thinking creature, and I had a choice. There was always a choice.

It hadn’t felt that way in the classroom… but I was away from him now.

I didn’t have to disappoint my father. I didn’t have to cause my mother stress, worry… pain. Yes, it would hurt my adopted mother, too. And she was so gentle, so tender and loving. Causing someone like Esme pain was truly inexcusable.

Perhaps, if I avoided this boy very, very carefully, there was no need for my life to change. I had things ordered the way I liked them. Why should I let some aggravating and delicious nobody ruin that?

How ironic that I’d wanted to protect this human boy from the paltry, toothless threat of Jessica Stanley’s snide thoughts. I was the last person who would ever stand as a protector for Beaufort Swan. He would never need protection from anything more than he needed it from me.

_ Where was Alice? _ I suddenly wondered.  Hadn’t she seen me killing the Swan boy in a multitude of ways? Why hadn’t she come to my aid—to stop me or help me clean up the evidence, whichever? Was she so absorbed with watching for trouble with Jasper that she’d missed this much more horrific possibility? Or was I stronger than I thought? Would I really not have done anything to the boy?

No. I knew that wasn’t true. Alice must be concentrating very hard on Jasper.

I searched in the direction I knew my sister would be, in the small building used for English classes. It did not take me long to locate her familiar “voice.” And I was right. Her every thought was turned to Jasper, watching his small choices with minute scrutiny.

I wished I could ask her for advice, but at the same time, I was glad she didn’t know what I was capable of. I felt a new burn through my body—the burn of shame. I didn’t want any of them to know. About any of it. 

If I could avoid Beau Swan, if I could manage not to kill him—even as I thought that, the monster writhed and gnashed his teeth in frustration—then no one would have to know. If I could keep away from his scent…

There was no reason I shouldn’t try, at least. Make a good choice. Try to be what Carlisle thought I was.

The last hour of school was almost over. I decided to put my new plan into action at once. Better than sitting here in the parking lot, where he might pass me and ruin my attempt. Again, I felt the unjust hatred for the boy.

I walked swiftly—a little too swiftly, but there were no witnesses—across the tiny campus to the office.

It was empty except for the receptionist, who didn’t notice my silent entrance.

“Ms. Cope?”

The woman with the unnaturally red hair looked up and startled. It always caught them off guard, the little markers they didn’t understand, no matter how many times they’d seen one of us before.

“Oh,” she gasped, a little flustered. She smoothed her shirt.  _ Silly, _ she thought to herself.  _ He’s almost young enough to be my son. _ “Hello, Edward. What can I do for you?” Her eyelashes fluttered behind her thick glasses.

Uncomfortable. But I knew how to be charming when I wanted to be. It was easy, since I was able to know instantly how any tone or gesture was taken.

I leaned forward, meeting her gaze as if I were staring deep into her flat brown eyes. Her thoughts were already in a flutter. This should be simple.

“I was wondering if you could help me with my schedule,” I said in the soft voice I reserved for not scaring humans.

I heard the tempo of her heart increase.

“Of course, Edward. How can I help?”  _ Too young, too young, _ she chanted to herself. Wrong, of course. I was older than her grandfather.

“I was wondering if I could move from my Biology class to a senior-level science. Physics, perhaps?”

“Is there a problem with Mr. Banner, Edward?”

“Not at all, it’s just that I’ve already studied this material.…”

“In that accelerated school you all went to in Alaska. Right.” Her thin lips pursed as she considered this.  _ They should all be in college. I’ve heard the teachers complain. Perfect 4.0s, never a hesitation with a response, never a wrong answer on a test—like they’ve found some way to cheat in every subject. Mr. Varner would rather believe that anyone was cheating in Trig than think a student was smarter than him. I’ll bet their mother tutors them.… _ “Actually, Edward, Physics is pretty much full right now. Mr. Banner hates to have more than twenty-five students in a class—”

“I wouldn’t be any trouble.”

_ Of course not. Not a perfect Cullen. _ “I know that, Edward. But there just aren’t enough seats as it is.…”

“Could I drop the class, then? I could use the period for independent study.”

“Drop Biology?” Her mouth fell open.  _ That’s crazy. How hard is it to sit through a subject you already know? There must be a problem with Mr. Banner. _ “You won’t have enough credits to graduate.”

“I’ll catch up next year.”

“Maybe you should talk to your parents about that.”

The door opened behind me, but whoever it was did not think of me, so I ignored the arrival and concentrated on Ms. Cope. I leaned slightly closer and stared as if I was gazing more deeply into her eyes. This would work better if they were gold today instead of black. The blackness frightened people, as it should.

My miscalculation affected the woman. She flinched back, confused by her conflicting instincts.

“Please, Ms. Cope?” I murmured, my voice as smooth and compelling as it could be, and her momentary aversion eased. “Isn’t there some other section I could switch to? I’m sure there has to be an open slot somewhere? Sixth-hour Biology can’t be the only option.…”

I smiled at her, careful not to flash my teeth so widely that it would scare her again, letting the expression soften my face.

Her heart drummed faster.  _ Too young, _ she reminded herself frantically. “Well, maybe I could talk to Bob—I mean Mr. Banner. I could see if—”

A second was all it took to change everything: the atmosphere in the room, my mission here, the reason I leaned toward the red-haired woman.… What had been for one purpose was now for another.

A second was all it took for Samantha Wells to enter the room, place a signed tardy slip in the basket by the door, and hurry out again, in a rush to be away from school. A sudden gust of wind through the open door crashed into me, and I realized why that first person through the door had not interrupted me with his thoughts.

I turned, though I did not need to make sure.

Beau Swan stood with his back pressed to the wall beside the door, a piece of paper clutched in his hands. His eyes were even larger than before as he took in my ferocious, inhuman glare.

The smell of his blood saturated every particle of air in the tiny, hot room. My throat burst into flames.

The monster glared back at me from the mirror of his eyes again, a mask of evil.

My hand hesitated in the air above the counter. I would not have to look back in order to reach across it and slam Ms. Cope’s head into her desk with enough force to kill her. Two lives rather than twenty. A trade.

The monster waited anxiously, hungrily, for me to do it.

But there was always a choice—there had to be.

I cut off the motion of my lungs and fixed Carlisle’s face in front of my eyes. I turned back to face Ms. Cope and heard her internal surprise at the change in my expression. She shrank away from me, but her fear did not form into coherent words.

Using all the control I’d mastered in my decades of self-denial, I made my voice even and smooth. There was just enough air left in my lungs to speak once more, rushing through the words.

“Never mind, then. I can see that it’s impossible. Thank you so much for your help.”

I spun and launched myself from the room, trying not to feel the warm-blooded heat of the boy’s body as I passed within inches of it.

I didn’t stop until I was in my car, moving too fast the entire way there. Most of the humans had cleared out already, so there weren’t a lot of witnesses. I heard a sophomore, D. J. Garrett, notice and then disregard.…

_ Where did Cullen come from? It was like he just came out of thin air.… There I go, with the imagination again. Mom always says… _

When I slid into my Volvo, the others were already there. I tried to control my breathing, but I was gasping at the fresh air as if I’d been suffocated.

“Edward?” Alice asked, alarm in her voice.

I just shook my head at her.

“What the hell happened to you?” Emmett demanded, distracted for the moment from the fact that Jasper was not in the mood for his rematch.

Instead of answering, I threw the car into reverse. I had to get out of this lot before Beau Swan could follow me here, too. My own personal demon, tormenting me… I swung the car around and accelerated. I hit forty before I was out of the parking lot. On the road, I hit seventy before I made the corner.

Without looking, I knew that Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper had all turned to stare at Alice. She shrugged. She couldn’t see what had passed, only what was coming.

She looked ahead for me now. We both processed what she saw in her head, and we were both surprised.

“You’re leaving?” she whispered.

The others stared at me now.

“Am I?” I snarled through my teeth.

She saw it then, as my resolve wavered and another choice spun my future in a darker direction.

“Oh.”

Beau Swan, dead. My eyes, glowing crimson with fresh blood. The search that would follow. The careful time we would wait before it was safe for us to pull out of Forks and start again…

“Oh,” she said again. The picture grew more specific. I saw the inside of Chief Swan’s house for the first time, saw Beau in a small kitchen with yellow cupboards, his back to me as I stalked him from the shadows, let the scent pull me toward him, let my hands rest on his too wide hips.…

“Stop!” I groaned, not able to bear more.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

The monster rejoiced.

And the vision in her head shifted again. An empty highway at night, the trees beside it coated in snow, flashing by at almost two hundred miles per hour.

“I’ll miss you,” she said. “No matter how short a time you’re gone.”

Emmett and Rosalie exchanged an apprehensive glance.

We were almost to the turnoff onto the long drive that led to our home.

“Drop us here,” Alice instructed. “You should tell Carlisle yourself.”

I nodded, and the car squealed to a sudden stop.

Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper got out in silence; they would make Alice explain when I was gone. Alice touched my shoulder.

“You will do the right thing,” she murmured. Not a vision this time—an order. “He’s Charlie Swan’s only family. It would kill him, too.”

“Yes,” I said, agreeing only with the last part.

She slid out to join the others, her eyebrows pulling together in anxiety. They melted into the woods, out of sight before I could turn the car around.

I knew the visions in Alice’s head would be flashing from dark to bright like a strobe light as I sped back to Forks doing ninety. I wasn’t sure where I was going. To say goodbye to my father? Or to embrace the monster inside me? 


	3. Open Book (Edward)

I leaned back against the soft snowbank, letting the dry powder reshape itself around my weight. My skin had cooled to match the air around me, and the tiny pieces of ice felt like velvet under my skin.

The sky above me was clear, brilliant with stars, glowing blue in some places, yellow in others. The stars created majestic, swirling shapes against the black backdrop of the empty universe—an awesome sight. Exquisitely beautiful. Or rather, it should have been exquisite. Would have been, if I’d been able to really see it.

It wasn’t getting any better. Six days had passed, six days I’d hidden here in the empty Denali wilderness, but I was no closer to freedom than I had been since the first moment I’d caught his scent.

When I stared up at the jeweled sky, it was as if there were an obstruction between my eyes and its beauty. The obstruction was a face, just an unremarkable human face, but I couldn’t quite seem to banish it from my mind.

I heard the approaching thoughts before I heard the footsteps that accompanied them. The sound of movement was only a faint whisper against the powder.

I was not surprised that Tanya had followed me here. I knew she’d been mulling over this coming conversation for the last few days, putting it off until she was sure of exactly what she wanted to say.

She sprang into sight about sixty yards away, leaping onto the tip of an outcropping of black rock and balancing there on the balls of her bare feet.

Tanya’s skin was silver in the starlight, and her long blond curls shone pale, almost pink with their strawberry tint. Her amber eyes glinted as she spied me, half-buried in the snow, and her full lips stretched slowly into a smile.

Exquisite. If I’d really been able to see her. I sighed.

She hadn’t dressed for human eyes; she wore only a thin cotton camisole and a pair of shorts. Crouching down on a promontory of stone, she touched the rock with her fingertips, and her body coiled.

_ Cannonball _ , she thought.

She launched herself into the air. Her shape became a dark, twisting shadow as she spun gracefully between the stars and me. She curled herself into a ball just as she struck the piled snowbank beside me.

A blizzard of snow flew up around me. The stars went black and I was buried deep in the feathery ice crystals.

I sighed again, breathing in the ice, but didn’t move to unearth myself. The blackness under the snow neither hurt nor improved the view. I still saw the same face.

“Edward?”

Then snow was flying again as Tanya swiftly disinterred me. She brushed the powder from my skin, not quite meeting my gaze.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “It was a joke.”

“I know. It was funny.”

Her mouth twisted down.

“Irina and Kate said I should leave you alone. They think I’m annoying you.”

“Not at all,” I assured her. “On the contrary, I’m the one who’s being rude—abominably rude. I’m very sorry.”

_ You’re going home, aren’t you?  _

“I haven’t… entirely… decided that yet.”

_ But you’re not staying here. _ Her thought was wistful now.

“No. It doesn’t seem to be… helping.”

Her lips pushed out into a pout. “That’s my fault, isn’t it?”

“Of course not.” She hadn’t made anything easier, for certain, but the face that haunted me was the only true impediment.

_ Don’t be a gentleman. _

I smiled.

_ I make you uncomfortable, _ she accused.

“No.”

She raised one eyebrow, her expression so disbelieving that I had to laugh. One short laugh, followed by another sigh.

“All right,” I admitted. “A little bit.”

She sighed, too, and put her chin in her hands.

“You’re a thousand times lovelier than the stars, Tanya. Of course, you’re already well aware of that. Don’t let my stubbornness undermine your confidence.” I chuckled at the unlikeliness of that.

“I’m not used to rejection,” she grumbled, her lower lip pushing out into an attractive pout.

“Certainly not,” I agreed, trying with little success to block out her thoughts as she fleetingly sifted through memories of her thousands of successful conquests. Mostly, Tanya preferred human men—they were much more populous for one thing, with the added advantage of being soft and warm. And always eager, definitely.

“Succubus,” I teased, hoping to interrupt the images flickering in her head.

She grinned, flashing her teeth. “The original.”

Unlike Carlisle, Tanya and her sisters had discovered their consciences slowly. In the end, it was their fondness for human men that turned them against the slaughter. Now the men they loved… lived.

“When you showed up here,” Tanya said slowly, “I thought that…”

I’d known what she’d thought. And I should have guessed that she would feel that way. But I’d not been at my best for analytical thinking at that moment.

“You thought that I’d changed my mind.”

“Yes.” She scowled.

“I feel horrible for toying with your expectations, Tanya. I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t thinking. It’s just that I left in… quite a hurry.”

“I don’t suppose you’d tell me why?”

I sat up and folded my arms across my chest, my shoulders rigid. “I’d prefer not to talk about it. Please forgive my reserve.”

She was quiet again, still speculating. I ignored her, trying in vain to appreciate the stars.

She gave up after a silent moment, and her thoughts pursued a new direction.

_ Where will you go, Edward, if you leave? Back to Carlisle? _

“I don’t think so,” I whispered.

Where would I go? I could not think of one place on the entire planet that held any interest for me. There was nothing I wanted to see or do. Because no matter where I went, I would not be going anywhere—I would only be running.

I hated that. When had I become such a coward?

Tanya threw her slender arm around my shoulders. I stiffened but did not flinch from her touch. She meant it as nothing more than friendly comfort. Mostly.

“I think that you will go back,” she said, her voice taking on just a hint of her long-lost Russian accent. “No matter what it is… or who it is… that haunts you. You’ll face it head-on. You’re the type.”

Her thoughts were as certain as her words. I tried to embrace the vision of myself that she saw. The one who faced things head-on. It was pleasant to think of myself that way again. I’d never doubted my courage, my ability to face difficulty, before that horrible hour in a high school Biology class such a short time ago.

I kissed her cheek, pulling back swiftly when she twisted her face toward mine. She smiled ruefully at my quickness.

“Thank you, Tanya. I needed to hear that.”

Her thoughts turned petulant. “You’re welcome, I guess. I wish you would be more reasonable about things, Edward.”

“I’m sorry, Tanya. You know you’re far too good for me. I just… haven’t found what I’m looking for yet.”

“Well, if you leave before I see you again… goodbye, Edward.”

“Goodbye, Tanya.” As I said the words, I could see it. I could see myself leaving. Being strong enough to go back to the one place I wanted to be. “Again, thank you.”

She was on her feet in one nimble move, and then she was running away, ghosting across the snow so quickly that her feet had no time to sink in. She left no prints behind her. She didn’t look back. My rejection bothered her more than she’d let on before, even in her thoughts. She wouldn’t want to see me again before I left.

My mouth twisted downward. I didn’t like hurting Tanya, though her feelings were not deep, hardly pure, and, in any case, not something I could return. It still made me feel less than a gentleman.

I put my chin on my knees and stared up at the stars again, though I was suddenly anxious to be on my way. I knew that Alice would see me coming home, that she would tell the others. This would make them happy—Carlisle and Esme especially. But I gazed at the stars for one more moment, trying to see past the face in my head. Between me and the brilliant lights in the sky, a pair of bewildered icy blue eyes wondered at my motives, seeming to ask what this decision would mean for him. Of course, I couldn’t be sure that was really the information his curious eyes sought. Even in my imagination, I couldn’t hear his thoughts. Beau Swan’s eyes continued to question, and an unobstructed view of the stars continued to elude me. With a heavy sigh, I gave up and got to my feet. If I ran, I would be back to Carlisle’s car in less than an hour.

In a hurry to see my family—and wanting very much to be the Edward who faced things head-on—I raced across the starlit snowfield, leaving no footprints.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“It’s going to be okay,” Alice breathed. Her eyes were unfocused, and Jasper had one hand lightly under her elbow, guiding her forward as we walked into the run-down cafeteria in a close-huddled group. Rosalie and Emmett led the way, Emmett looking ridiculously like a bodyguard in the middle of hostile territory. Rose looked wary, too, but much more irritated than protective.

“Of course it is,” I grumbled. Their behavior was ludicrous. If I weren’t positive that I could handle this moment, I would have stayed home.

The sudden shift from our normal, even playful morning—it had snowed in the night, and Emmett and Jasper were not above taking advantage of my distraction to bombard me with slush balls; when they got bored with my lack of response, they’d turned on each other—to this overdone vigilance would have been comical if it weren’t so irritating.

“He’s not here yet, but the way he’s going to come in… he won’t be downwind if we sit in our regular spot.”

“Of course we’ll sit in our regular spot. Stop it, Alice. You’re getting on my nerves. I’ll be absolutely fine.”

She blinked once as Jasper helped her into her seat, and her eyes finally focused on my face.

“Hmm,” she said, sounding surprised. “I think you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” I muttered.

I hated being the focus of their concern. I felt a sudden sympathy for Jasper, remembering all the times we’d hovered protectively over him. He met my glance briefly, and grinned.

_ Annoying, isn’t it? _

I glowered at him.

Was it just last week that this long, drab room had seemed so killingly dull to me? That it had seemed almost like sleep, like a coma, to be here?

Today my nerves were stretched tight—piano wires, tensed to sing at the lightest pressure. My senses were hyperalert; I scanned every sound, every sight, every movement of the air that touched my skin, every thought. Especially the thoughts. There was only one sense that I kept locked down, refused to use. Smell, of course. I didn’t breathe.

I was expecting to hear more about the Cullens in the thoughts that I sifted through. All day I’d been waiting, searching for whichever new acquaintance Beau Swan might have confided in, trying to see the direction the new gossip would take. But there was nothing. No one particularly noticed the five vampires in the cafeteria, just as before the boy had come. Several of the humans here were still thinking of him, still thinking the same thoughts from last week. Instead of finding this unutterably boring, I was now fascinated.

Had he said nothing to anyone about me?

There was no way that he had not noticed my black, murderous glare. I had seen him react to it. Surely, I’d traumatized him. I was convinced that he would have mentioned it to someone, maybe even have exaggerated the story a bit to make it better. Given me a few menacing lines.

And then he’d also heard me trying to get out of our shared Biology class. He must have wondered, after seeing my expression, whether he was the cause. A normal person would have asked around, compared Their experience to others’, and looked for common ground that would explain my behavior so they didn’t feel singled out. Humans were constantly desperate to feel normal, to fit in. To blend in with everyone else around them, like a featureless flock of sheep. The need was particularly strong during the insecure adolescent years. This boy should be no exception to that rule.

But no one at all took notice of us sitting here, at our usual table. Beau must be exceptionally shy if he hadn’t confided in anyone. Perhaps he had spoken to his father; maybe that was the strongest relationship… though that seemed unlikely, given that he had spent so little time with him throughout his life. He would be closer to his mother. Still, I would have to pass by Chief Swan sometime soon and listen to what he was thinking.

“Anything new?” Jasper asked.

I concentrated, allowing all the swarms of thoughts to invade my mind again. There wasn’t anything that stood out; no one was thinking of us. Despite my earlier worries, it didn’t seem that there was anything wrong with my abilities, aside from the silent boy. I’d shared my concerns with Carlisle upon my return, but he’d only ever heard of talents growing stronger with practice. Never did they atrophy.

Jasper waited impatiently.

“Nothing. He… must not have said anything.”

All of them raised eyebrows at this news.

“Maybe you’re not as scary as you think you are,” Emmett said, chuckling. “I bet I could have frightened him better than that.”

I rolled my eyes at him.

“Wonder why…?” He puzzled again over my revelation about the boy’s unique silence.

“We’ve been over that. I don’t know.” 

“He’s coming in,” Alice murmured then. My body froze. “Try to look human.”

“Human, you say?” Emmett asked.

He held up his right fist, twisting his fingers to reveal the snowball he’d saved in his palm. It had not melted there; he’d squeezed it into a lumpy block of ice. He had his eyes on Jasper, but I saw the direction of his thoughts. So did Alice, of course. When he abruptly hurled the ice chunk at her, she flicked it away with a casual flutter of her fingers. The ice ricocheted across the length of the cafeteria, too fast to be visible to human eyes, and shattered with a sharp crack against the brick wall. The brick cracked, too.

The heads in that corner of the room all turned to stare at the pile of broken ice on the floor, and then swiveled to find the culprit. They didn’t look farther than a few tables away. No one looked at us.

“Very human, Emmett,” Rosalie said scathingly. “Why don’t you punch through the wall while you’re at it?”

“It would look more impressive if you did it, gorgeous.”

I tried to pay attention to them, keeping a grin fixed on my face as though I were part of their banter. I did not allow myself to look toward the line where I knew he was standing. But that was all I was listening to.

I could hear Jessica’s impatience with the new boy, who seemed to be distracted, too, standing motionless in the moving line. I saw, in Jessica’s thoughts, that Beau Swan’s cheeks were once more colored bright pink with blood.

I pulled in a few short, shallow breaths, ready to quit breathing if any hint of his scent touched the air near me.

Mike Newton was with the two. I heard both his voices, mental and verbal, when he asked Jessica what was wrong with the Swan boy. It was distasteful and surprising the way his thoughts wrapped around him, the flicker of already established fantasies that clouded his mind while he watched him start and look up from his reverie as though he’d forgotten he was there.

“Nothing,” I heard Beau say in that quiet, clear voice. It seemed to ring like a struck bell over the babble in the cafeteria, but I knew that was just because I was listening for it so intently.

“I’ll just get a soda today,” he continued as he moved to catch up with the line.

I couldn’t help flickering one glance in his direction. He was staring at the floor, the blood slowly fading from his face. I looked away quickly, to Emmett, who laughed at the now pained-looking smile on my face.

_ You look sick, brother of mine. _

I rearranged my features so the expression would seem casual and effortless.

Jessica was wondering aloud about the boy’s lack of appetite. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Actually, I feel a little sick.” His voice was lower, but still very clear.

Why did it bother me, the protective concern that suddenly emanated from Mike Newton’s thoughts? What did it matter that there was a possessive edge to them? It wasn’t my business if Mike Newton felt unnecessarily anxious for him. Perhaps this was the way everyone responded to him. Hadn’t I wanted, instinctively, to protect him, too? Before I’d wanted to kill him, that is…

But was the boy ill?

It was hard to judge—he looked so delicate with his translucent skin.… Then I realized that I was worrying, just like that dimwitted boy, and I forced myself not to think about his health.

Regardless, I didn’t like monitoring him through Mike’s thoughts. I switched to Jessica’s, watching carefully as the three of them chose which table to sit at. Fortunately, they sat with Jessica’s usual companions, at one of the first tables in the room. Not downwind, just as Alice had promised.

Alice elbowed me. _ He’s going to look soon. Act human. _

I clenched my teeth behind my grin.

“Ease up, Edward,” Emmett said. “Honestly. So you kill one human. That’s hardly the end of the world.”

“You would know,” I murmured.

Emmett laughed. “You’ve got to learn to get over things. Like I do. Eternity is a long time to wallow in guilt.”

Just then, Alice tossed a smaller handful of ice that she’d been hiding into Emmett’s unsuspecting face.

He blinked, surprised, and then grinned in anticipation.

“You asked for it,” he said as he leaned across the table and shook his ice-encrusted hair in her direction. The snow, melting in the warm room, flew out from his hair in a thick shower of half liquid, half ice.

“Ew!” Rose complained as she and Alice recoiled from the deluge.

Alice laughed, and we all joined in. I could see in Alice’s head how she’d orchestrated this perfect moment, and I knew that the boy—I should stop thinking of him that way, as if he were the only boy in the world—that Beau would be watching us laugh and play, looking as happy and human and unrealistically ideal as a Norman Rockwell painting.

Alice kept laughing and held her tray up as a shield. The boy—I should really stop calling him that—must still be staring at us.

_ … staring at the Cullens again, _ someone thought, catching my attention.

I looked automatically toward the unintentional call, easily recognizing the voice as my eyes found their destination—I’d been listening to it so much today.

But my eyes slid right past Jessica and focused on the boy’s—Beau’s—penetrating gaze.

He looked down quickly, hiding his stare by turning back to his companion.

What was he thinking? The frustration seemed to be getting more acute as time went on, rather than dulling. I tried—uncertain, for I’d never done this before—to probe with my mind at the silence around him. My extra hearing had always come to me naturally, without asking; I’d never had to work at it. But I concentrated now, trying to break through whatever armor surrounded him.

Nothing but silence.

_ What is it about him? _ Jessica thought, echoing my own irritation.

“Edward Cullen is staring at you,” she whispered in the Swan boy’s ear, adding a giggle. There was no hint of her jealous annoyance in her tone. Jessica seemed to be skilled at feigning friendship.

I listened, too engrossed, to Beau’s response.

“He doesn’t look angry, does he?” he whispered back.

So he had noticed my wild reaction last week. Of course he had.

The question confused Jessica. I saw my own face in her thoughts as she checked my expression, but I did not meet her glance. I was still concentrating on the boy, trying to hear something. Intent focus didn’t seem to help at all.

“No,” Jess told him, and I knew that she wished she could say yes—how it rankled her, my staring—though there was no trace of that in her voice. “Should he be?”

“I don’t think he likes me,” the boy—Beau—whispered back, laying his head down on his arm as if he were suddenly tired. I tried to understand the motion, but I could only make guesses. Maybe he was tired.

“The Cullens don’t like anybody,” Jess reassured him. “Well, they don’t notice anybody enough to like them.”  _ They never used to. _ Her thought was a grumble of complaint. “But he’s still staring at you.”

“Stop looking at him,” Beau said anxiously, lifting his head from his arm to make sure Jessica obeyed the order.

Jessica giggled, but did as she was asked.

The boy—Beau—did not look away from his table for the rest of the hour. I thought—though, of course, I could not be sure—that this was deliberate. It seemed as though he wanted to look at me. His body would shift slightly in my direction, his chin would begin to turn, and then he would catch himself, take a deep breath, and stare fixedly at whoever was speaking.

I ignored the other thoughts around him for the most part, as they were not, momentarily, about him. Mike Newton was planning a snowball fight in the parking lot after school, not seeming to realize that the snow had already shifted to rain. The flutter of soft flakes against the roof had become the more common patter of raindrops. Could he really not hear the change? It seemed loud to me.

When the lunch period ended, I stayed in my seat. The humans filed out, and I caught myself trying to distinguish the sound of his footsteps from the rest, as if there were something important or unusual about them. How stupid.

My family made no move to leave, either. They waited to see what I would do.

Would I go to class, sit beside the boy, where I could smell the absurdly potent scent of his blood and feel the warmth of his pulse in the air on my skin? Was I strong enough for that? Or had I had enough for one day?

As a family, we’d already discussed this moment from every possible angle. Carlisle disapproved of the risk, but he wouldn’t impose his will on mine. Jasper disapproved nearly as much, but from fear of exposure rather than any concern for humankind. Rosalie only worried about how it would affect her life. Alice saw so many obscure, conflicting futures that her visions were atypically unhelpful. Esme thought I could do no wrong. And Emmett just wanted to compare stories about his own experiences with particularly appealing scents. He pulled Jasper into his reminiscing, though Jasper’s history with self-control was so short and so uneven that he was unable to be sure he’d ever had an analogous struggle. Emmett, on the other hand, remembered two such incidents. His memories of them were not encouraging. But he’d been younger then, not as adept at self-control. Surely, I was stronger than that.

“I… think it’s okay,” Alice said, hesitant. “Your mind is set. I think you’ll make it through the hour.”

But Alice knew well how quickly a mind could change.

“Why push it, Edward?” Jasper asked. Though he didn’t want to feel smug that I was the weak one now, I could hear that he did, just a little. “Go home. Take it slow.”

“What’s the big deal?” Emmett disagreed. “Either he will or he won’t kill him. Might as well get it over with, either way.”

“I don’t want to move yet,” Rosalie complained. “I don’t want to start over. We’re almost out of high school, Emmett. Finally.”

I was evenly torn on the decision. I wanted, wanted badly, to face this head-on rather than running away again. But I didn’t want to push myself too far, either. It had been a mistake last week for Jasper to go so long without hunting; was this just as pointless a mistake?

I didn’t want to uproot my family. None of them would thank me for that.

But I wanted to go to my Biology class. I realized that I wanted to see his face again.

That’s what decided it for me. That curiosity. I was angry with myself for feeling it. Hadn’t I promised myself that I wouldn’t let the silence of the boy’s mind make me unduly interested in him? And yet, here I was, most unduly interested.

I wanted to know what he was thinking. His mind was closed, but his eyes were very open. Perhaps I could read them instead.

“No, Rose, I think it really will be okay,” Alice said. “It’s… firming up. I’m ninety-three percent sure that nothing bad will happen if he goes to class.” She looked at me, inquisitive, wondering what had changed in my thoughts that made her vision of the future more secure.

Would curiosity be enough to keep Beau Swan alive?

Emmett was right, though—why not get it over with, either way? I would face the temptation head-on.

“Go to class,” I ordered, pushing away from the table. I turned and strode away from them without looking back. I could hear Alice’s worry, Jasper’s censure, Emmett’s approval, and Rosalie’s irritation trailing after me.

I took one last deep breath at the door of the classroom, and then held it in my lungs as I walked into the small, warm space.

I was not late. Mr. Banner was still setting up for today’s lab. The boy sat at my—at our table, his face down again, staring at the folder he was doodling on. I examined the sketch as I approached, interested in even this trivial creation of his mind, but it was meaningless. Just a random scribbling of loops within loops. Perhaps he was not concentrating on the pattern, but thinking of something else?

I pulled my chair back with unnecessary roughness, letting it scrape across the linoleum—humans always felt more comfortable when noise announced someone’s approach.

I knew he heard the sound; he did not look up, but his hand missed a loop in the design he was drawing, making it unbalanced.

Why didn’t he look up? Probably he was frightened. I must be sure to leave him with a different impression this time. Make him think he’d been imagining things before.

“Hello,” I said in the quiet voice I used when I wanted to make humans more comfortable, forming a polite smile with my lips that would not show any teeth.

He looked up then, his wide blue—no green—eyes startled and full of silent questions. It was the same expression that had been obstructing my vision for the past week.

As I stared into those oddly deep, pale green eyes—the color was like jade stones, but the clarity was more comparable to tea, there was a depth and transparency; near his pupils, there were tiny flecks of agate green and golden caramel—I realized that my hate, the hate I’d imagined this boy somehow deserved for simply existing, had evaporated. Not breathing now, not tasting his scent, I found it hard to believe that anyone so vulnerable could ever be deserving of hatred.

His cheeks began to flush, and he said nothing.

I kept my eyes on his, focusing only on their questioning depths, and tried to ignore the appetizing color of his skin. I had enough breath to speak for a while longer without inhaling.

“My name is Edward Cullen,” I said, though he already knew it. It was the polite way to begin. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan.”

He seemed confused—there was that little pucker between his eyes again. Then, his face morphed, a small, confident smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he rested his chin in his hand. His gaze never left mine.

“How do you know my name?” he demanded, a slight purr to the words. Had he become a completely different person?

I must have truly terrified him, and this made me feel guilty. I laughed gently—it was a sound that I knew made humans more at ease.

“Oh, I think everyone knows your name.” Surely, he must have realized that he’d become the center of attention in this monotonous place. “The whole town’s been waiting for you to arrive.”

He frowned as if this information was unpleasant. I supposed, being shy as he appeared to be, attention would seem like a bad thing to him. Most humans felt the opposite. Though they didn’t want to stand out from the herd, at the same time they craved a spotlight for their individual uniformity.

“No,” he said. “I meant, why did you call me Beau?”

“Do you prefer Beaufort?” I asked, perplexed that I couldn’t see where this question was leading. I didn’t understand. He’d made his preference clear many times that first day. Were all humans this incomprehensible without the mental context as a guide? How much I must rely on that extra sense. Would I be completely blind without it?

“No, I like Beau,” he answered, laughing and leaning his head slightly to one side. His expression—if I was reading it correctly—was torn between embarrassment and confusion. “But I think Charlie—I mean my dad—must call me Beaufort behind my back. That’s what everyone here seems to know me as.” His skin darkened one shade pinker.

“Oh,” I said, and quickly looked away from his face.

I’d just realized what his questions meant: I had slipped up—made an error. If I hadn’t been eavesdropping on all the others that first day, then I would have addressed him initially by his full name. He’d noticed the difference.

“I assumed, since the teacher called you Beau, that was what you preferred.” I kept my gaze away from him. 

I felt a pang of unease. It was very quick of him to pick up on my slip. Quite astute, especially for someone who was supposed to be terrified by my proximity.

But I had bigger problems than whatever suspicions about me he might be keeping locked inside his head.

I was out of air. If I were going to speak to him again, I would have to inhale.

It would be hard to avoid speaking. Unfortunately for him, sharing this table made him my lab partner, and we would have to work together today. It would seem odd—and incomprehensibly rude—for me to ignore him while we did the lab. It would make him more suspicious, more afraid.

I leaned as far away from him as I could without moving my seat, twisting my head out into the aisle. I braced myself, locking my muscles in place, and then sucked in one quick chestful of air, breathing through my mouth alone.

Ahh!

It was intensely painful, like swallowing burning coals. Even without smelling him, I could taste him on my tongue. The craving was every bit as strong as that first moment I’d caught his scent last week, and just as disturbing.

I gritted my teeth and tried to compose myself.

“Get started,” Mr. Banner commanded.

It took every single ounce of self-control I’d achieved in seventy-four years of hard work to turn back to the boy, who was staring down at the table, and smile.

“Ladies first, partner?” I offered. A joke was always a great ice breaker.

He looked up at my expression and his face went blank. Was there something off? In his eyes, I saw the reflection of my usual human-friendly composition of features. The facade looked perfect. Was he frightened again? He didn’t speak.

“Or, I could start, if you wish,” I said quietly.

“No,” he said, and his face went from white to red again. “I’ll go ahead.”

I stared at the equipment on the table—the battered microscope, the box of slides—rather than watch the blood wax and wane under his clear skin. I took another quick breath, through my teeth, and winced as the taste scorched the inside of my throat.

“Prophase,” he said after a quick examination. He started to remove the slide, though he’d barely examined it.

“Do you mind if I look?” Instinctively—stupidly, as if I were one of his kind—I reached out to stop his hand from removing the slide. For one second, the heat of his skin burned into mine. It was like an electric pulse—the heat shot through my fingers and up my arm. He felt warmer than a normal human. He yanked his hand out from under mine.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. Needing somewhere to look, I grasped the microscope and stared briefly into the eyepiece. He was right. 

“Prophase,” I agreed.

I was still too unsettled to look at him. Breathing as quietly as I could through my gritted teeth and trying to ignore the fiery thirst, I concentrated on the simple assignment, writing the word on the appropriate line on the lab sheet and then switching out the first slide for the next.

What was he thinking now? What had it felt like to him when I had touched his hand? My skin must have been ice-cold—repulsive. No wonder he was so quiet.

I glanced at the slide.

“Anaphase,” I said to myself as I wrote it on the second line.

“May I?” he asked. His tone was pleasant and I wanted him to speak again.

I looked up, surprised to see that he was waiting expectantly, one hand half-stretched toward the microscope. He didn’t look afraid. Quite the opposite, actually. His eyes seemed to gleam with curiosity. Did he really think I’d gotten the answer wrong?

I couldn’t help but smile at the hopeful expression on his face as I slid the microscope toward him.

He stared into the eyepiece with an eagerness that quickly faded. The corners of his mouth turned down. The way he pouted was oddly endearing. 

“Slide three?” he asked, not looking up from the microscope, but holding out his hand. I dropped the next slide into his palm, keeping my skin far from his this time. Sitting beside him was like sitting next to a heat lamp. I could feel myself warming slightly to the higher temperature, and I wanted to move closer to leech more of his body heat from him.

He did not look at the slide for long. “Interphase,” he said nonchalantly—perhaps trying a little too hard to sound that way—and pushed the microscope toward me. He did not touch the paper, but waited for me to write the answer. I checked—he was correct again.

We finished this way, speaking one word at a time and never meeting each other’s eyes. We were the only ones done—the others in the class were having a harder time with the lab. Mike Newton seemed to be having trouble concentrating; he was trying to watch Beau and me.

_ Wish he’d stayed wherever he went, _ Mike thought, eyeing me with a sulfurous gaze. Interesting. I hadn’t realized the boy harbored any specific ill will toward me. This was a new development, about as recent as the boy’s arrival, it seemed. Even more interestingly, I found—to my surprise—that the feeling was mutual.

I looked down at Beau again, bemused by the vast range of havoc and upheaval that, despite his ordinary, unthreatening appearance, he was wreaking on my life.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t see what Mike was going on about. He was actually sort of pretty for a human. Better than being beautiful, his face was… unexpected. Not quite symmetrical—his narrow chin out of balance with his wide cheekbones; extreme in the coloring—the contrast of his light skin and dark hair; and then there were the eyes, too big for his face, brimming over with silent secrets. Every one of his features came together to make him oddly feminine and masculine all at once. Was androgynous the word I was searching for?

Eyes were suddenly boring into mine.

I stared back at him, trying to guess even one of his secrets.

“Did you get contacts?” he asked abruptly.

What a strange question. “No.” I almost smiled at the idea of improving my eyesight.

“Oh,” he mumbled. “I thought there was something different about your eyes.”

I felt suddenly colder again as I realized that I was not the only one attempting to ferret out secrets today.

I shrugged, my shoulders stiff, and glared straight ahead to where the teacher was making his rounds.

Of course there was something different about my eyes since the last time he’d stared into them. To prepare myself for today’s ordeal, today’s temptation, I’d spent the entire weekend hunting, satiating my thirst as much as possible, overdoing it, really. I’d glutted myself on the blood of animals, not that it made much difference in the face of the outrageous flavor floating on the air around him. When I’d glared at him last, my eyes had been black with thirst. Now, my body swimming with blood, my eyes were a warm gold—light amber.

Another slip. If I’d seen what he meant with his question, I could have just told him yes.

I’d sat beside humans for two years now at this school, and he was the first to examine me closely enough to note the change in my eye color. The others, while admiring the beauty of my family, tended to look down quickly when we returned their stares. They shied away, blocking the details of our appearances in an instinctive endeavor to keep themselves from understanding. Ignorance was bliss to the human mind.

Why did it have to be this boy who would see too much?

Mr. Banner approached our table. I gratefully inhaled the gush of clean air he brought with him before it could mix with Beau’s scent.

“So, Edward,” he said, looking over our answers, “didn’t you think Beaufort should get a chance with the microscope?”

“Beau,” I corrected him reflexively. “Actually, he identified three of the five.”

Mr. Banner’s thoughts were skeptical as he turned to look at the boy. “Have you done this lab before?”

I watched, engrossed, as he smiled, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Not with onion root.”

“Whitefish blastula?” Mr. Banner probed.

“Yeah.”

This surprised him. Today’s lab was something he’d pulled from a senior-class course. He nodded thoughtfully at the boy. “Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?”

“Yes.”

He was advanced, then, intelligent for a human. This did not surprise me.

“Well,” Mr. Banner said, pursing his lips, “I guess it’s good you two are lab partners.” He turned and walked away, mumbling “So the other kids can get a chance to learn something for themselves” under his breath. I doubted the boy could hear that. He began scrawling loops across his folder again.

Two slips so far in one half hour. An extremely poor showing on my part. Though I had no idea at all what Beau thought of me—how much did he fear, how much did he suspect?—I knew I needed to put forth a better effort to leave him with a new impression. Something to quell his memories of our ferocious last encounter.

“It’s too bad about the snow, isn’t it?” I said, repeating the small talk that I’d heard a dozen students discuss already. A boring, standard topic of conversation. The weather—always safe.

He stared at me with obvious doubt in his eyes—an abnormal reaction to my very normal words. “Not really.”

I tried to steer the conversation back to trite paths. He was from a much brighter, warmer place—his skin seemed to reflect that somehow, despite its fairness—and the cold must make him uncomfortable. My icy touch certainly had.

“You don’t like the cold,” I guessed.

“Not particularly,” he agreed, smiling as the words were spoken. 

“Forks must be a difficult place for you to live.”  _ Perhaps you should not have come here, _ I wanted to add.  _ Perhaps you should go back where you belong. _

I wasn’t sure I wanted that, though. I would always remember the scent of his blood—was there any guarantee that I wouldn’t eventually follow him? Besides, if he left, his mind would forever remain a mystery, a constant, nagging puzzle.

“You have no idea,” he said in a low voice, glowering past me for a moment.

His answers were never what I expected. They made me want to ask more questions.

“Why did you come here, then?” I demanded, realizing instantly that my tone was too accusatory, not casual enough for the conversation. The question sounded rude, prying.

“It’s… complicated.”

He blinked, leaving it at that, and I nearly imploded out of curiosity—in that second, it burned almost as hot as the thirst in my throat. Actually, I found that it was getting slightly easier to breathe; the agony was becoming a tiny bit more bearable through familiarity.

“I think I can keep up,” I insisted. Perhaps common courtesy would compel him to answer my questions as long as I was impolite enough to ask them.

He stared down silently at his hands. This made me impatient. I wanted to put my hand under his chin and tilt his head up so that I could read his eyes. But of course I could never touch his skin again.

He looked up suddenly. It was a relief to be able to see the emotions in his eyes. He spoke in a rush, hurrying through the words.

“My mother got remarried.”

Ah, this was human enough, easy to understand. Sorrow flitted across his face, bringing the small pucker back between his brows.

“That doesn’t sound so complex,” I said, my voice gentle without my working to make it that way. His dejection left me oddly helpless, wishing there was something I could do to make him feel better. A strange impulse. “When did that happen?”

“Last September.” He exhaled heavily—not quite a sigh. I froze for a moment as his warm breath brushed my face.

“And you don’t like him,” I guessed after that short pause, still fishing for more information.

“No, Phil is fine,” he said, correcting my assumption. There was a hint of a smile now around the corners of his full lips. “Too young, maybe, but nice enough.”

This didn’t fit with the scenario I’d been constructing in my head.

“Why didn’t you stay with them?” My voice was too eager; it sounded like I was being nosy. Which I was, admittedly.

“Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living.” The little smile grew more pronounced; this career choice amused him.

I smiled, too, without choosing the expression. I wasn’t trying to make him feel at ease. His smile just made me want to smile in response—to be in on the secret.

“Have I heard of him?” I ran through the rosters of professional ballplayers in my head, wondering which Phil was his.

“Probably not. He doesn’t play well.” Another smile. “Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot.”

The rosters in my head shifted instantly, and I’d tabulated a list of possibilities in less than a second. At the same time, I was imagining the new scenario.

“And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him,” I said. Making assumptions seemed to get more information out of him than questions did. It worked again. His chin jutted out, and his expression was suddenly stubborn.

“No, she did not send me here,” he said, and his voice had a new, hard edge to it. My assumption had upset him, though I couldn’t quite see how. “I sent myself.”

I could not guess at his meaning, or the source behind his pique. I was entirely lost.

There was just no making sense of the boy. He wasn’t like other humans. Maybe the silence of his thoughts and the perfume of his scent were not the only unusual things about him.

“I don’t understand,” I admitted, hating to concede.

He sighed and stared into my eyes for longer than most normal humans were able to stand.

“She stayed with me at first, but she missed him,” Beau explained slowly, his tone growing more forlorn with each word. “It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie.”

The tiny pucker between his eyes deepened.

“But now you’re unhappy,” I murmured. I kept speaking my hypotheses aloud, hoping to learn from his refutations. This one, however, did not seem as far off the mark.

“And?” he said, as if this was not even an aspect to be considered.

I continued to stare into his eyes, feeling that I’d finally gotten my first real glimpse into his soul. I saw in that one word where he ranked himself among his own priorities. Unlike most humans, his own needs were far down the list.

He was selfless.

As I saw this, the mystery of the person hiding inside this quiet mind began to clear a little.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I said. I shrugged, trying to seem casual.

He laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you? Life isn’t fair.”

I wanted to laugh at his words, though I, too, felt no real amusement. I knew a little something about the unfairness of life. “I believe I have heard that somewhere before.”

He stared back at me, seeming confused again. His eyes flickered away, and then came back to mine.

“So that’s all,” he told me. 

I was not ready to let this conversation end. The little v between his eyes, a remnant of his sorrow, bothered me.

“You put on a good show.” I spoke slowly, still considering this next hypothesis. “But I’d be willing to bet that you’re suffering more than you let anyone see.”

He made a face, his eyes narrowing and his mouth twisting into a lopsided frown, and he looked back toward the front of the class. He didn’t like it when I guessed right. He wasn’t the average martyr—he didn’t want an audience for his pain.

“Am I wrong?”

He flinched slightly, but otherwise pretended not to hear me.

That made me smile. “I didn’t think so.”

“Why does it matter to you?” he demanded, still staring away.

“That’s a very good question,” I admitted, more to myself than to him.

His discernment was better than mine—he saw right to the core of things while I floundered around the edges, sifting blindly through clues. The details of his very human life should not matter to me. It was wrong for me to care what he thought. Beyond protecting my family from suspicion, human thoughts were not significant.

I was not used to being the less intuitive of any pairing. I relied on my extra hearing too much—I clearly was not as perceptive as I gave myself credit for.

The boy sighed and glowered toward the front of the classroom. Something about his frustrated expression was humorous and adorable, like a dog being mad but still wishing for attention. The whole situation, the whole conversation, was humorous. No one had ever been in more danger from me than this small human boy—at any moment I might, distracted by my ridiculous absorption in the conversation, inhale through my nose and attack him before I could stop myself—and he was irritated because I hadn’t answered his question.

“Am I annoying you?” I asked, smiling at the absurdity of it all.

He glanced at me quickly, and then his eyes seemed to be trapped by my gaze.

“Not exactly,” he told me. “I’m more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read—my mother always calls me her open book.”

He frowned, disgruntled.

I stared at him in amazement. He was upset because he thought I saw through him too easily. How bizarre. I’d never expended so much effort to understand someone in all my life—or rather existence, as life was hardly the right word. I did not truly have a life.

“On the contrary,” I disagreed, feeling strangely… wary, as if there were some hidden danger here that I was failing to see. Beyond the very obvious danger, something more… I was suddenly on edge, the premonition making me anxious. “I find you very difficult to read.”

“You must be a good reader, then,” he guessed, making his own assumption, which was, again, right on target.

“Usually,” I agreed.

I smiled at him widely then, letting my lips pull back to expose the rows of gleaming, steel-strong teeth behind them.

It was a stupid thing to do, but I was abruptly, unexpectedly desperate to get some kind of warning through to the boy. His body was closer to me than before, having shifted unconsciously in the course of our conversation. All the little markers and signs that were sufficient to scare off the rest of humanity did not seem to be working on him. Why did he not cringe away from me in terror? Surely he had seen enough of my darker side to realize the danger.

I didn’t get to see if my warning had the intended effect. Mr. Banner called for the class’s attention just then, and he turned away from me at once. He seemed a little relieved for the interruption, so maybe he understood unconsciously.

I hoped he did.

I recognized the fascination growing inside me, even as I tried to root it out. I could not afford to find Beau Swan interesting. Or rather, he could not afford that. Already, I was anxious for another chance to talk to him. I wanted to know more about his mother, his life before he came here, his relationship with his father. All the meaningless details that would flesh out his character further. But every second I spent with him was a mistake, a risk he shouldn’t have to take.

Absentmindedly, he tossed his thick hair just at the moment that I allowed myself another breath. A particularly concentrated wave of his scent hit the back of my throat.

It was like the first day—like the grenade. The pain of the burning dryness made me dizzy. I had to grasp the table again to keep myself in my seat. This time I had slightly more control. I didn’t break anything, at least. The monster growled inside me but took no pleasure in my pain. He was too tightly bound. For the moment.

I stopped breathing altogether and leaned as far from the boy as I could.

No, I could not afford to find him fascinating. The more interesting I found him, the more likely it was that I would kill him. I’d already made two minor slips today. Would I make a third, one that was not minor?

As soon as the bell sounded, I fled from the classroom—probably destroying whatever impression of politeness I’d halfway constructed in the course of the hour. Again, I gasped at the clean, wet air outside as though it was a healing attar. I hurried to put as much distance as possible between myself and the boy.

Emmett waited for me outside the door of our Spanish class. He read my wild expression for a moment.

_ How did it go?  _ he wondered warily.

“Nobody died,” I mumbled.

_ I guess that’s something. When I saw Alice ditching there at the end, I thought… _

As we walked into the classroom, I saw his memory from just a few moments earlier, seen through the open door of his last class: Alice walking briskly and blank-faced across the grounds toward the science building. I felt his remembered urge to get up and join her, and then his decision to stay. If Alice needed his help, she would ask.

I closed my eyes in horror and disgust as I slumped into my seat. “I hadn’t realized it was that close. I didn’t think I was going to… I didn’t see that it was that bad,” I whispered.

_ It wasn’t, _ he reassured me.  _ Nobody died, right? _

“Right,” I said through my teeth. “Not this time.”

_ Maybe it will get easier. _

“Sure.”

_ Or maybe you kill him. _ He shrugged.  _ You wouldn’t be the first one to mess up. No one would judge you too harshly. Sometimes a person just smells too good. I’m impressed you’ve lasted this long. _

“Not helping, Emmett.”

I was revolted by his acceptance of the idea that I would kill the boy, that this was somehow inevitable. Was it his fault that he smelled so good?

_ I know when it happened to me… _ ,he reminisced, taking me back with him half a century, to a country lane at dusk, where a middle-aged woman was pulling her dried sheets down from a line strung between apple trees. I’d seen this before, the strongest of his two encounters, but the memory seemed particularly vivid now—perhaps because my throat still ached from the last hour’s scorching. Emmett remembered the smell of apples hanging heavy in the air—the harvest was over and the rejected fruits were scattered on the ground, the bruises in their skin leaking their fragrance out in thick clouds. A freshly mowed field of hay was a background to that scent, a harmony. He walked up the lane, all but oblivious to the woman, on an errand for Rosalie. The sky was purple overhead, orange over the mountains to the west. He would have continued up the meandering cart path and there would have been no reason to remember the evening, except that a sudden night breeze blew the white sheets out like sails and fanned the woman’s scent across Emmett’s face.

“Ah,” I groaned quietly. As if my own remembered thirst was not enough.

_ I know. I didn’t last half a second. I didn’t even think about resisting. _

His memory became far too explicit for me to stand.

I jumped to my feet, my teeth locked hard.

“Estás bien, Edward?” Mrs. Goff asked, startled by my sudden movement. I could see my face in her mind, and I knew that I looked far from well.

“Perdóname,” I muttered as I darted for the door.

“Emmett, por favor, puedes ayudar a tu hermano?” she asked, gesturing helplessly toward me as I rushed out of the room.

“Sure,” I heard him say. And then he was right behind me.

He followed me to the far side of the building, where he caught up to me and put his hand on my shoulder.

I shoved his hand away with unnecessary force. It would have shattered the bones in a human hand, and the bones in the arm attached to it.

“Sorry, Edward.”

“I know.” I drew in deep gasps of air, trying to clear my head and lungs.

“Is it as bad as that?” he asked, trying not to think of the scent and the flavor of his memory as he asked, and not quite succeeding.

“Worse, Emmett, worse.”

He was quiet for a moment.

_ Maybe… _

“No, it would not be better if I got it over with. Go back to class, Emmett. I want to be alone.”

He turned without another word or thought and walked quickly away. He would tell the Spanish teacher that I was sick, or ditching, or a dangerously out of control vampire. Did his excuse really matter? Maybe I wasn’t coming back. Maybe I had to leave.

I returned to my car to wait for school to end. To hide. Again.

I should have spent the time making decisions or trying to bolster my resolve, but, like an addict, I found myself searching through the babble of thoughts emanating from the school buildings. The familiar voices stood out, but I wasn’t interested in listening to Alice’s visions or Rosalie’s complaints right now. I found Jessica easily, but the boy was not with her, so I continued searching. Mike Newton’s thoughts caught my attention, and I located him at last, in the Gym with him. He was unhappy because I’d spoken to him today in Biology. He was running over his response when he’d brought the subject up.

_ I’ve never seen him actually say more than a word here or there to anyone. Of course he would decide to talk to Beau. I don’t like the way he looks at him. But he didn’t seem too excited about him. What did he say to me earlier? “We are just lab partners. He was only being polite because he had to be.” Something like that. Didn’t sound like he cared. It couldn’t have been much of a conversation.… _

He cheered himself with the idea that Beau had not been interested in his exchange with me. This annoyed me quite a bit, so I stopped listening to him.

I put in a CD of violent music, and then turned it up until it drowned out other voices. I had to concentrate on the music very hard to keep myself from drifting back to Mike Newton’s thoughts to spy on the unsuspecting boy.

I cheated a few times as the hour drew to a close.  _ Not spying, _ I tried to convince myself. I was just preparing. I wanted to know exactly when he would leave the gym, when he would be in the parking lot. I didn’t want him to take me by surprise.

As the students started to file out the gym doors, I got out of my car, not sure why I did it. The rain was light—I ignored it as it slowly saturated my hair.

Did I want him to see me here? Did I hope he would come to speak to me? What was I doing?

I didn’t move, though I tried to convince myself to get back in the car, knowing my behavior was reprehensible. I kept my arms folded across my chest and breathed very shallowly as I watched him walk slowly toward me, his mouth turning down at the corners. He didn’t look at me. A few times he glanced up at the clouds with a scowl, as if they had offended him.

I was disappointed when he reached his car before he had to pass me. Would he have spoken to me? Would I have spoken to him?

He got into a faded red Chevy truck, a rusted behemoth that was older than his father. I watched him start the truck—the old engine roared louder than any other vehicle in the lot—and then hold his hands out toward the heating vents. The cold was uncomfortable to him—he didn’t like it. He combed his fingers through his long, thick hair, pulling locks through the stream of hot air as though he was trying to dry them. I imagined what the cab of that truck would smell like, and then quickly drove out the thought.

He glanced around as he prepared to back out, and finally looked in my direction. He stared back at me for only half a second, and all I could read in his eyes was surprise before he tore them away and jerked the truck into reverse. And then squealed to a stop again, the back end of the truck missing a collision with Nicole Casey’s compact by mere inches.

He stared into his rearview mirror, his mouth hanging open, horrified at his near miss. When the other car had pulled past him, he checked all his blind spots twice and then inched out of the parking space so cautiously that it made me grin. It was as though he thought he was dangerous in his decrepit truck.

The thought of Beau Swan being dangerous to anyone, no matter what he was driving, had me laughing while the boy drove past me, staring straight ahead.


	4. Open Book

The next day was better… and worse.

It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Mike came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with Chess Club Eric glaring at him all the while; that was nattering. People didn't look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Mike, Eric, Jessica, and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of drowning in it.

It was worse because I was tired; I was still exhausted from the previous day's events. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't cringe out of the way of the ball, I hit my teammate in the head with it. I would have to talk to someone to see if I could be medically exempt from gym. 

And it was worse because Edward Cullen wasn't in school at all.

All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing his bizarre glares and the inevitable gut wrenching arousal that was to come. Part of me wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was. I even imagined what I would say, but I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I sometimes made the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica — trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely — I saw that his four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and he was not with them.

Mike intercepted us and steered us to his table. Jessica seemed elated by the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment he would arrive. I hoped that he would simply ignore me when he came, and prove my suspicions false.

He didn't come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense.

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he still hadn't showed. Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. I held my breath at the door, but Edward Cullen wasn't there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Mike followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach.

He lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a girl with braces and a bad perm. It looked like I was going to have to do something about Mike, and it wouldn't be easy. In a town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy was essential. 

I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edward was absent. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason he wasn't there. It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible. And yet I couldn't stop worrying that it was true.

When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading out of my cheeks from the volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and navy blue sweater. I hurried from the locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I had what I needed. Charlie couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon, so I requested that I be in charge of kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to hand over the keys to the banquet hall. I also found out that he had no food in the house. So I had my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was on my way to the Thriftway.

I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed carefully into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the ear splitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before — I'd been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. With their remarkable good looks, the style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money. But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn't look as if it bought them any acceptance here.

No, I didn't fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; I couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of beauty.

They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when I finally was free of the school grounds.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did the shopping in Phoenix, and I fell into the pattern of the familiar task. The store was big enough that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find an open space. I hoped Charlie wouldn't mind. I wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak in marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge.

When I was finished with that, I took my book bag upstairs. Before starting my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats, pulled my damp hair up into a pony-tail, and checked my email for the first time. I had three messages.

"Beau," my mom wrote…

Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. 

Mom.

  
  


I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.

"Beau," she wrote…

Why haven't you emailed me yet? What are you waiting for? 

Mom.

  
  


The last was from this morning.

Beaufort,

If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Charlie.

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the gun.

  
  


Mom,

Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash.

Beau.

  
  


Why was she so suddenly worried? It’s not like I can die or something. Not easily anyway. 

I sent that, and began again.

  
  


Mom,

Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about.

School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who sit by me at lunch.

Your blouse is at the dry cleaners - you were supposed to pick it up Friday.

Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me.

I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my email every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you.

Beau.

  
  


I had decided to read Wuthering Heights — the novel we were currently studying in English — yet again for the fun of it, and tossed the book onto my desk after a few minutes. Reading something for the literal hundredth time was not any fun. I flopped onto the bed when Charlie came home. I'd lost track of the time, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

"Beau?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.

"Hey, Dad, welcome home."

"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready.

When I came here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose. Not that a bullet would actually do much. 

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. My mother was an imaginative cook, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

"Steak and potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved.

He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. We were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steaks cooked, and set the table.

I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.

"Smells good, Beau."

"Thanks."

We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of us was bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for living together.

"So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds.

"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there's this boy, Mike, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception. I tapped my finger against the surface of the table. 

"That must be Mike Newton. Nice kid — nice family. His dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here."

“Well, I guess I can’t kill him then.” Charlie choked on his food, and I snorted. “I’m just kidding. I wasn’t planning on doing anything to him anyway.” 

“Well good. That would be a problem.” 

"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked abruptly.

"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. Dr. Cullen's a great man." There was an edge to his voice.

"They… the kids… are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

Charlie surprised me with his evident irritation.

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, making ten times the salary he gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have him — lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature — I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should — camping trips every other weekend… Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying. Does he know they aren't human?

"They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary.

"You should see the doctor," Charlie said, laughing. "It's a good thing he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around."

I failed to get anything past that from Charlie. I cursed his ability to keep his lips sealed. 

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand — no dishwasher — I went upstairs unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making. And I hated it.

That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at school. In Gym, the kids on my team learned not to pass me the ball and to step quickly in front of me if the other team tried to take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way. I tried to talk to counselors, teachers and even the principal. No one had been willing to give me an exemption for gym.

And Edward Cullen didn't come back to school.

Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without him. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Mike was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire. 

By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edward would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn't totally suppress the guilt that I was responsible for his continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom a more bogusly cheerful email. I drank another glass of blood, deciding I'd gone long enough between feedings. I did drive to the library Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and shuddered at the thought.

The rain stayed soft over the weekend. For the first time in months, I didn’t have to sleep. 

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone. I felt energized. It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. In English, Mike took his accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy.

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. 

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose.

"Wow," Mike said. "It's snowing."

I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

"Whoa" Snow. I stared at the blanket of white that had begun to cover the campus with wonder. Who would have thought I could see something new in my life?

He looked surprised. 

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" he asked.

"Sure I have." I paused." On TV."

Mike laughed. Then, a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my suspicions about Eric, who was walking away, his back toward us — in the wrong direction for his next class. Mike apparently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. "Once people start throwing stuff, I go inside."

He just nodded, his eyes on Eric's retreating figure.

Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. 

I walked, alert, to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish. Snow balls were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Jessica thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself.

Mike caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, with ice melting the spikes in his hair. He and Jessica were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table.

Jessica pulled on my arm.

"Hello? Beau? What do you want?"

I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong, and no one knew anything.

"What's with Beau?" Mike asked Jessica.

"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a soda today." I caught up to the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Jessica asked.

"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said, my eyes still on the floor.

I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to a table, my eyes on my feet.

I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Mike asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling.

I told him it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour.

_ Ridiculous. _ I shouldn't have to run away. I could control myself. 

I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. If he was glaring at me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was.

I kept my face forward and glanced over through the corner of my eye. None of them were looking this way. I turned my head a little further.

They were laughing. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Alice and Rosalie were leaning away as Emmett shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else — only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. I examined Edward the most carefully.

His skin was less pale, I decided — flushed from the snow fight maybe — the circles under his eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change.

"Beau, what are you staring at?" Jessica intruded, her eyes following my stare.

At that precise moment, his eyes flashed over to meet mine.

I turned away. I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that he didn't look harsh or unfriendly as he had the last time I'd seen him. He looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way. That didn’t help the slowly curling heat in my gut.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you," Jessica giggled in my ear.

"He doesn't look angry, does he?" I couldn't help asking.

"No," she said, sounding confused by my question. "Should he be?"

"I don't think he likes me," I confided. I still felt queasy. I put my head down on my arm.

"The Cullens don't like anybody…well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But he's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at him," I hissed.

She snickered, but she looked away. I raised my head enough to make sure that she did, contemplating violence if she resisted. I could always drain her now instead of later.

Mike interrupted us then — he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jessica agreed enthusiastically. Just the way she looked at Mike left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested. I kept silent. I would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared. I didn't know which place was worse.

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since he didn't look angry, I would go to Biology. My stomach did little flips at the thought of sitting next to him again.

I didn't really want to walk to class with Mike as usual — he seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snipers — but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.

Mike kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.

Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.

I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing. I ignored the slowly building pain inside me.

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.

I looked up, stunned that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. His hair was dripping wet, disheveled — even so, he looked like he'd just finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his eyes were careful.

"My name is Edward Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan." Huh.

My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? He was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; he was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything conventional to say.

"How do you know my name?" I replied, resting my chin on my palm. I internally scolded myself.  _ Quite being a flirt.  _

He laughed softly, the sound enchanting.

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

I grimaced. I knew it was something like that.

"No," I persisted. "I meant, why did you call me Beau?"

He seemed confused. "Do you prefer Beaufort?"

"No, I like Beau," I laughed. "But I think Charlie — I mean my dad — must call me Beaufort behind my back — that's what everyone here seems to know me as," I tried to explain.

"Oh." The shock that seemed embedded in his face was priceless. “I assumed, since the teacher called you Beau, that was what you preferred.” A great cover. 

Thankfully, Mr. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order, and his voice was monotone. 

Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, he would be coming around to see who had it right.

"Get started," he commanded.

"Ladies first, partner?" Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that I could only stare at him like an idiot.

"Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded; he was obviously wondering if I was mentally competent at understanding a joke.

"No," I said, flushing. "I'll go ahead."

I was showing off, just a little. I'd already done this lab many times before, and I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. I studied the slide briefly.

My assessment was confident." Prophase."

"Do you mind if I look?" he asked as I began to remove the slide. His hand caught mine, to stop me, as he asked. His fingers were ice-cold, like he'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When he touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us that went straight for my already overly interested and aroused brain and body. 

"I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling his hand back immediately. However, he continued to reach for the microscope. I watched him, still staggered, as he examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had.

"Prophase," he agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on our worksheet. He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it cursorily.

"Anaphase," he murmured, writing it down as he spoke.

I kept my voice indifferent. "May I?"

He smirked and pushed the microscope to me.

I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Dang it, he was right.

"Slide three?" I held out my hand without looking at him.

He handed it to me; it seemed like he was being careful not to touch my skin again. I hated how much I wanted to feel his skin against mine. 

I took the most fleeting look I could manage.

"Interphase." I passed him the microscope before he could ask for it. He took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while he looked, but his clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn't want to spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl.

We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Mike and his partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table.

Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at him… unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and he was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes.

Suddenly I identified that subtle difference in his face.

"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out.

He seemed puzzled by my unexpected question. "No."

"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

He shrugged, and looked away.

In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered the flat black color of his eyes the last time he'd glared at me — the color was striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburn hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone. I didn't understand how that could be, unless he was lying for some reason about the contacts. I crossed my legs and squeezed my thighs the slightest bit. 

I glanced down. His hands were clenched into hard fists again. I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

Mr. Banner came to our table, to see why we weren't working. He looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.

"So, Edward, didn't you think Beaufort should get a chance with the microscope?" Mr.Banner asked.

"Beau," Edward corrected. "Actually, he identified three of the five."

Mr. Banner looked at me now; his expression was skeptical.

"Have you done this lab before?" he asked.

I smiled sheepishly. "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yeah."

Mr. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

"Well," he said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." 

“So the other kids can get a chance to learn something for themselves” he said under his breath as he walked away. I began doodling on my notebook again.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward asked. I had the feeling that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. It was like he had heard my conversation with Jessica at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong. If he isn’t human, he probably did. 

"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else.

I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate.

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.

"Not particularly." I smiled, and mentally berated myself for being so flirtatious. 

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused.

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.

He looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded, despite my body’s protests. 

"Why did you come here, then?"

No one had asked me that — not straight out like he did, demanding.

"It's… complicated."

"I think I can keep up," he pressed.

I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His dark gold eyes distracted me, and I answered without thinking.

"My mother got remarried," I said.

"That doesn't sound so complex," he disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic.  _ Stop it, Beau. You’re luring him in.  _

"When did that happen?"

"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me. 

"And you don't like him," Edward surmised, his tone still kind.

"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough." If anything, I liked him too much.

"Why didn't you stay with them?" How could I tell him my own mother was afraid her own son had stronger charms than she did?

I couldn't fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull and half fake life story was somehow vitally important.

"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled.

"Have I heard of him?" he asked, smiling in response.

"Probably not. He doesn't play well. Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot."

"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." He said it as an assumption again, not a question.

"No, she did not send me here. I sent myself."

His eyebrows knit together. "I don't understand," he admitted, and he seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact.

I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him? It wasn’t the truth anyway. What did it matter if I told him this rehearsed story? He continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." My voice was glum by the time I finished.

"But now you're unhappy," he pointed out.

"And?" I challenged.

"That doesn't seem fair." He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense.

I laughed without humor. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair."

"I believe I have heard that somewhere before," he agreed dryly.

"So that's all," I insisted, wondering why he was still staring at me that way.

His gaze became appraising. "You put on a good show," he said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

I grimaced at him, resisting the impulse to stick out my tongue like a five-year-old, and looked away.

"Am I wrong?"

I tried to ignore him. Why did he know just how to get under my skin?

"I didn't think so," he murmured smugly.

"Why does it matter to you ?" I asked, irritated. I kept my eyes away, watching the teacher make his rounds.

"That's a very good question," he muttered, so quietly that I wondered if he was talking to himself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.

I sighed, scowling at the blackboard.

"Am I annoying you?" he asked. He sounded amused.

I glanced at him without thinking… and told the truth again.

"Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read — my mother always calls me her open book." I frowned. 

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everything that I'd said and he'd guessed, he sounded like he meant it.

"You must be a good reader then," I replied.

"Usually." He smiled widely, flashing a set of ultra white teeth that were a bit too perfect to be normal. Interesting.

Mr. Banner called the class to order, and I turned to listen. He'd seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I tried to appear attentive as Mr. Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were unmanageable.

When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed swiftly and gracefully from the room. I stared after him in amazement. If he’s human, I’m a nun sworn to celibacy.

Mike skipped quickly to my side and picked up my books for me. I imagined him with a wagging tail and had to hold in the laugh that threatened to bubble up from my chest. 

"That was awful," he groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Cullen for a partner."

"I didn't have any trouble with it," I said, stung by his assumption. I wasn't stupid. 

"I've done the lab before, though," I added before he could get his feelings hurt.

"Cullen seemed... friendly enough today," he commented as we shrugged into our raincoats.  _ He doesn’t deserve what I’ve been working for since you got here. It’s unfair.  _

I tried to sound indifferent. "We are just lab partners. He was only being polite because he had to be." Mike scoffed. 

_ He’s so naive!  _ Images flash in quick succession. Fantasies involving me, and the many things my supposed naivety would make more enjoyable. 

I decided to walk to the Gym on my own and abandoned Mike as soon as I had my raincoat on. P.E. didn't do much to hold my attention. Mike was on my team today. He chivalrously covered my position as well as his own, so my wool gathering was only interrupted when it was my turn to serve; my team ducked warily out of the way every time I was up. I wished he would just stop trying to cement himself in a slot that didn’t need filling.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in the dry cab. I got the heater running, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair out so the heater could dry it on the way home.

I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed the still, white figure. Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. My own imagination filled with fantasies and thoughts of Edward Cullen waiting for me to leave my truck and greet him. Him taking me in his car. We’d drive for hours, find a remote spot in the woods, and park the car. He’d climb on top of me, and I’d greet his invasion of my personal space. His lips would press against mine; his hands would slide up a skirt I chose to wear just for him—

I swiftly tore my gaze away from him and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I would swear I saw him laughing.


	5. Phenomenon

When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different.

  


It was the light. It was still the gray-green light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog veiling my window.

  


I jumped up to look outside. 

  


A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. But that wasn't the most fascinating part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid — coating the needles on the trees in fantastic, gorgeous patterns. I hurriedly got dressed and rushed downstairs, ready to examine the frozen outside world. 

  


Charlie had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having my own place, and I found myself reveling in being alone instead of being lonely. I found a note on the table. 

  


_ Blood in the fridge. Don’t drink too much.  _

_ Dad. _

  


I searched the fridge and found that there were several full bags hidden behind the orange juice and milk. I took a large cup from the cupboard after warming a bag under the faucet. The bag filled the cup, which I proceeded to chug with vigor. The entire cup was gone within a minute. 

  


I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton to cover the scent of blood. I brushed my teeth for good measure. I felt excited to go to school, and that scared me. I knew it wasn't the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Edward Cullen. And that was very, very stupid.

  


I should be avoiding him entirely after my brainless and embarrassing almost accident yesterday. Was he stupid? Didn’t he know how dangerous it was for him to be around me? I shouldn't be at all anxious to see him today.

  


I double checked my bag for insulin, and made my way out the door. It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway without falling flat on my ass. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling to the side mirror and save myself. Clearly, today was going to be a nightmare.

  


Driving to school, I distracted myself from my fear and my unwanted speculations about Edward Cullen by thinking about Mike and Eric, and the obvious difference in how teenage boys responded to me here. I was sure I looked exactly the same as I had in Phoenix. Perhaps it was because I was a novelty here, where novelties were few and far between. Maybe it was the assumption about my sexuality. Possibly my clumsiness was seen as endearing rather than pathetic, casting me as a damsel in distress, or it could be because of my overtly feminine appearance. Whatever the reason, Mike's puppy dog behavior and Eric's apparent rivalry with him were disconcerting. 

  


My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street.

  


When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why I'd had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck — carefully holding the side for support — to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck. My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasn't used to being taken care of, and Charlie's unspoken concern caught me by surprise.

  


I was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to fight back the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when I heard an odd sound.

  


It was a high-pitched screech, and it was fast becoming painfully loud. I looked up, startled.

  


I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work much faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail several things at once.

  


Edward Cullen was standing four cars down from me, staring at me in horror. His face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask of shock. But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them. I braced myself for the impact. I was not looking forward to the necessary excuse I was going to have to come up with for how I was just fine. 

  


Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I was lying on the pavement behind the tan car I'd parked next to. But I didn't have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with me again.

  


A low curse made me aware that someone was with me, and the voice was impossible not to recognize. Two long, white hands shot out protectively in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, the large hands fitting providentially into a deep dent in the side of the van's body.

  


Then his hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my legs around like a ragdoll, till they hit the tire of the tan car. A groaning metallic thud hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt — exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.

  


It was absolutely silent for one long second before the screaming began. In the abrupt bedlam, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Edward Cullen's low, frantic voice in my ear.

  


"Beau? Are you all right?"

  


"I'm fine." My voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and realized he was holding me against the side of his body in an iron grasp.

  


"Be careful," he warned as I struggled. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."

  


I became aware of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear. It didn’t really hurt, but it was still a surprise.

  


"Ow," I said.

  


"That's what I thought." His voice sounded like he was suppressing laughter.

  


"How in the…" I trailed off, trying to clear my head and get my bearings. "How did you get over here so fast?"

  


"I was standing right next to you, Beau," he said, his tone serious again.

  


I turned to sit up, and this time he let me, releasing his hold around my waist and sliding as far from me as he could in the limited space. I looked at his concerned, innocent expression and was disoriented again by the force of his gold-colored eyes.

  


What was I asking him?

  


And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us.

  


"Don't move," someone instructed.

  


"Get Tyler out of the van!" someone else shouted.

  


There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Edward's cold hand pushed my shoulder down.

  


"Just stay put for now."

  


"But it's cold," I complained. It surprised me when he chuckled under his breath. There was an edge to the sound.

  


"You were over there," I suddenly remembered, and his chuckle stopped short. "You were by your car."

  


His expression turned hard. "No, I wasn't."

  


"I saw you." All around us was chaos. I could hear the gruffer voices of adults arriving on the scene. But I obstinately held on to our argument; I was right, and he was going to admit it.

  


"Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way." He unleashed the full, devastating power of his eyes on me, as if trying to communicate something crucial.

  


"No." I set my jaw.

  


The gold in his eyes blazed. "Please, Beau."

  


"Why?" I demanded.

  


"Trust me," he pleaded, his soft voice overwhelming.

  


I could hear the sirens now. "Promise me." I allowed my pheromones to uncoil in an unbridled cloud. Edward shook his head, clearly dazed by the powerful scent. 

  


“Promise you what, Beau?” I let my eyes burn, and I knew without needing to look at a reflection to confirm that they were a bright, candy apple green. 

  


“Promise me you will explain everything.”

  


"Fine," he snapped, abruptly exasperated.

  


"Fine," I repeated angrily. I blinked. My eyes needed to be normal. 

  


It took six EMTs and two teachers — Mr. Varner and Coach Clapp — to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Edward vehemently refused his, and I tried to do the same, but the traitor told them I'd hit my head and probably had a concussion. I almost died of humiliation when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Edward got to ride in the front, the bastard. It was maddening.

  


To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get me safely away.

  


"Beau!" he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.

  


"I'm completely fine, Dad," I sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me."

  


He turned to the closest EMT for a second opinion. I tuned him out to consider the jumble of inexplicable images churning chaotically in my head. I absentmindedly reached for my neck, feeling the plastic charm necklace underneath my sweater. I breathed a sigh of relief. That was one less issue I had to worry about. 

  


I thought back to the accident. When they'd lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car's bumper — a very distinct dent that fit the contours of Edward's shoulders… as if he had braced himself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame. He wouldn't have been able to get out of that without a great deal of damage if he was human. 

  


And then there was his family, looking on from the distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval to fury but held no hint of concern for their brother's safety.

  


I tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what I had just seen — a solution that excluded the assumption that I was insane. Because I most definitely was not insane. 

  


Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Edward simply glided through the hospital doors under his own power. I ground my teeth together. When I could get out of this god forsaken hospital, he was so fucking dead. 

  


They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn't obligated to wear the stupid-looking neck brace anymore. When the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.

  


There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Tyler Crowley from my Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around his head. Tyler looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But he was staring anxiously at me.

  


"Beau, I'm so sorry!"

  


"I'm fine, Tyler — you look awful, are you all right?" As we spoke, nurses began unwinding his soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over his forehead and left cheek.

  


He ignored me. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong…" He winced as one nurse started dabbing at his face.

  


"Don't worry about it; you missed me."

  


"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone…"

  


I considered outing him. I considered sounding like a raving lunatic to expose Edward’s secret that he wasn’t a human. 

  


"Umm… Edward pulled me out of the way."

  


He looked confused. "Who?"

  


"Edward Cullen — he was standing next to me." It sounded like a lie even to my own ears. 

  


"Cullen? I didn't see him… wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?" I knew I wasn't crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what I'd seen.

  


"I think so. He's here somewhere, but they didn't make him use a stretcher."

  


They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, But they wouldn’t let me go until they had made sure themselves. I was right, not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, waiting, harassed by Tyler 's constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince him I was fine, he continued to torment himself. Finally, I closed my eyes and ignored him. He kept up a remorseful mumbling.

  


"Is she sleeping?" a musical voice asked. My eyes flew open.

  


Edward was standing at the foot of my bed, smirking. I glared at him. It wasn't easy —it would have been more natural to ogle.

  


"Hey, Edward, I'm really sorry —" Tyler began.

  


Edward lifted a hand to stop him.

  


"No blood, no foul," he said, flashing his brilliant teeth. He moved to sit on the edge of Tyler 's bed, facing me. He smirked again.

  


"So, what's the verdict?" he asked me.

  


"There's nothing wrong with me at all, but they won't let me go," I complained. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

  


"It's all about who you know," he answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

  


Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. He was young, he was blond… and he was more handsome than any movie star I'd ever seen. He was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under his eyes. From Charlie's description, this had to be Edward's father. Once I saw him, it made me feel better about lying to Tyler. There was more than just Edward I needed to consider. 

  


"So, Mister Swan," Dr. Cullen said in a remarkably appealing voice, "how are you feeling?"

  


"I'm fine," I said, for the last time, I hoped.

  


He walked to the light board on the wall over my head, and turned it on.

  


"Your X-rays look good," he said. "Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard."

  


"It's fine," I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick scowl toward Edward.

  


The doctor's cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. He noticed when I winced.

  


"Tender?" he asked.

  


"Not really." It wasn’t painful because of an injury. 

  


I heard a chuckle, and looked over to see Edward's patronizing smile. My eyes narrowed.

  


“Before you leave, I just have a quick question about something in your X-rays.” My gaze had clearly portrayed my irritation.

  


“Well, get on with it,” I snapped. I no longer had the patience to deal with anymore of this nonsense. 

  


“We found abnormalities on your skull. Is this something that existed prior to now?” Dr. Cullen asked with mild concern. 

  


“Yes. It’s a birth defect. I’ve had it since I was born. I was told it presented no threat to my well being, so we left it alone.” Dr. Cullen nodded, accepting the lie. 

  


"Well, your father is in the waiting room — you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

  


"Can't I go back to school?" I asked. What was the point in going home if I was perfectly fine?

  


"Maybe you should take it easy today."

  


I glanced at Edward. "Does he get to go to school?"

  


"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Edward said smugly.

  


"Actually," Dr. Cullen corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

  


"Oh no," I moaned, covering my face with my hands. Could this day get any worse?

  


Dr. Cullen raised his eyebrows. "Do you want to stay?"

  


"No, no!" I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly — I staggered, and Dr. Cullen caught me. He looked concerned.

  


"I'm fine," I assured him again. No need to tell him my balance problems had nothing to do with hitting my head.

  


"Take some Tylenol for the pain," he suggested as he steadied me.

  


"It doesn't hurt that bad," I insisted.

  


"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Cullen said, smiling as he signed my chart with a flourish.

  


"Lucky Edward happened to be standing next to me," I amended with a hard glance at the subject of my statement.

  


"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Cullen agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of him.

  


Then he looked away, at Tyler, and walked to the next bed. The doctor was definitely in on it.

  


"I'm afraid that you'll have to stay with us just a little bit longer," he said to Tyler, and began checking his cuts.

  


As soon as the doctor's back was turned, I moved to Edward's side.

  


"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I hissed under my breath. He took a step back from me, his jaw suddenly clenched.

  


"Your father is waiting for you," he said through his teeth.

  


I glanced at Dr. Cullen and Tyler.

  


"I'd like to speak with you. Alone. If you don't mind," I pressed. I shouldn’t have wasted my persuasion back at the school. I should have waited till now to force him to give me answers.

  


He glared, and then turned his back and strode down the long room. I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, he spun around to face me.

  


"What do you want?" he asked, sounding annoyed. His eyes were cold.

  


His unfriendliness intimidated me. My words came out with less severity than I'd intended. "You owe me an explanation," I reminded him.

  


"I saved your life — I don't owe you anything."

  


I flinched back from the resentment in his voice. "You promised."

  


"Beau, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about." His tone was cutting.

  


My temper flared now, and I glared defiantly at him. "There's nothing wrong with my head."

  


He glared back. "What do you want from me, Beau?"

  


"I want to know the truth," I said. "I want to know why I'm lying for you." I haven’t burdened him with my issues. How can he expect me to lie for him when I know nothing? 

  


"What do you think happened?" he snapped.

  


It came out in a rush.

  


"All I know is that you weren't anywhere near me —Tyler didn't see you, either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both — and it didn't, and your hands left dents in the side of it — and you left a dent in the other car, and you're not hurt at all — and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up…" I could hear how crazy it sounded, and I stopped. I was so mad; I began grinding my teeth together in an effort to squash it down. 

  


He was staring at me incredulously. But his face was tense, defensive.

  


"You think I lifted a van off of you?" His tone questioned my sanity, but it only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor.

  


“I don’t think, I know, Edward.” I crossed my arms over my chest. 

  


"Nobody will believe that, you know." His voice held an edge of derision now.

  


"I'm not going to tell anybody." I said each word slowly, carefully controlling my anger.

  


Surprise flitted across his face. "Then why does it matter?"

  


"It matters to me," I insisted. "I want the truth, like you promised me." I didn’t have enough juice to be pressing the matter any further, but I was too stubborn to let it go.

  


"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

  


"Thank you." I waited, fuming and expectant.

  


"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

  


"No."

  


"In that case… I hope you enjoy disappointment."

  


We scowled at each other in silence. I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being distracted by his livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destructive angel.

  


"Why did you even bother?" I asked frigidly. I didn’t need him to. He could have avoided my questions by doing nothing.

  


He paused, and for a brief moment his stunning face was unexpectedly vulnerable.

  


"I don't know," he whispered.

  


And then he turned his back on me and walked away.

  


I was so angry, it took a few minutes for me to be able to move. When I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.

  


The waiting room was more unpleasant than I'd feared. It seemed like every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Charlie rushed to my side, Time to play it up

  


"There's nothing wrong with me," I assured him sullenly. He kept his distance, and I was grateful for that. I was still aggravated.

  


"What did the doctor say?"

  


"Dr. Cullen saw me, and he said I was fine and I could go home." I sighed. Mike and Jessica and Eric were all there, beginning to converge on us. "Let's go," I urged.

  


Charlie put one arm behind my back, not quite touching me, and led me to the glass doors of the exit. I waved sheepishly at my friends, hoping to convey that they didn't need to worry anymore. It was a huge relief— the first time I'd ever felt that way — to get into the cruiser.

  


We drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely knew Charlie was there. I was positive that Edward's defensive behavior in the hall was a confirmation of the fact he was not human and that I was not crazy. 

  


When we got to the house, Charlie finally spoke.

  


"You should drink again tonight." He kept his eyes forward.

  


“How can you tell?” I stepped out of the cruiser. 

  


“I have my ways.” We both entered the house. Charlie hung up his gun belt and coat. 

  


“Go sit on the couch. I’ve got it.” I was suddenly hit by a wave of exhaustion. I headed to the living, flopping onto the couch. 

  


After a few minutes of odd noises from the kitchen, Charlie entered the living room with the same cup I had used earlier, cleaned and refilled. Charlie sat next to me on the small couch. I instinctively rested my head against his shoulder, blinking rapidly and attempting to breath normally. I coughed, hacking up bright red mucus. He placed a straw in my cup before he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close. I sipped at the blood in my cup as he rubbed my arm. He had turned on some nonsense show neither of had to pay particularly close attention to. We spent several hours like this. It felt nice to be coddled like when I used to get sick as a small child. I hadn’t felt safe like that in so long. 

  


Once I had finished my cup, we spent a few more minutes together. Finally, Dad took my cup to the kitchen. He helped me up the stairs. We stopped on our way to grab three Tylenol from the bathroom, and Dad made me take them. Dad got me into bed and tucked me in like I was a little kid again. 

  


“Get some rest, ok kiddo?” He brushed hair away from my face as he spoke. 

  


“Ok, Dad.” He turned off the light and closed the door on his way out.

  


The Tylenol did help, and, as the pain eased, I drifted to sleep.

  


My dream was dark. I examined my surroundings, finding one dull light in the distance. I walked hesitantly toward it. What could the light be? Was it a lantern? Bugs? I finally reached the light, and my throat tightened. 

  


A man was turned away from me. His skin was the cause of the glowing. 

  


“Who are you?” I asked. I reached out, placing my hand on his arm. His skin was ice cold. 

  


Suddenly, the world around me exploded into bright light, and when it cleared, I was face to face with Edward Cullen. His smile was light, carefree and… loving. 

  


“What are you doing here?” I asked. His hands clasped my own, and his cold thumbs ran cooling circles along my knuckles. 

  


“I just… couldn’t wait to see you, Beau.” The way my name rolled off his lips shot a shiver down my spine. He stepped forward, crowding me with his own body. 

  


He lifted me into his arms with ease. His lips connected with my own, and the electric current I felt when he had grabbed my hand began its course through my body. I felt a bed underneath me as everything shifted and he was now hovering over me. His body created a cage around me. I welcomed the captivity if it afforded me stolen kisses with Edward Cullen. 

  


“Beau.” The word came out as a gasp. I pulled him back to me, pressing together in a painful collision of teeth and lips. His body had impossibly trapped me further. I had chosen to wrap myself around him, forcing him closer in any possible way that I could manage. I wanted this to last. I didn’t want to let go. 

  


I shot up straight out of bed, panting and in a cold sweat. This… was definitely the worst thing that could happen. This was beyond bad. 

  


I couldn’t go back to sleep. Not after the best nightmare I could have ever had.


	6. Risks (Edward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Merry Christmas everybody! As a little Christmas gift, I'm posting two chapters today! this is the first one, and both are from Edward's perspective. And then we'll be getting into some major shifting points for this story. I'm so ready for you guys to read the next few chapters!
> 
> But for now, here are your two chapters.

Truly, I was not thirsty, but I decided to hunt again that night. A small ounce of prevention, inadequate though I knew it to be.

Carlisle came with me. We hadn’t been alone together since I’d returned from Denali. As we ran through the black forest, I heard him thinking about that hasty goodbye last week.

In his memory, I saw the way my features had been twisted in fierce despair. I felt again his surprise and sudden worry.

“Edward?”

“I have to go, Carlisle. I have to go now.”

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing. Yet. But it will if I stay.”

He’d reached for my arm. I’d seen how it had hurt him when I’d cringed away from his hand.

“I don’t understand.”

“Have you ever… has there ever been a time…?”

I watched myself take a deep breath, saw the wild light in my eyes through the filter of his deep concern.

“Has any one person ever smelled better to you than the rest of them? Much better?”

“Oh.”

When I’d known that he understood, my face had fallen with shame. He’d reached out to touch me, ignoring it when I’d recoiled again, and left his hand on my shoulder.

“Do what you must to resist, Son. I will miss you. Here, take my car. The tank is full.”

He was wondering now if he’d done the right thing then, sending me away. Wondering if he had hurt me with his lack of trust.

“No,” I whispered as I ran. “That was what I needed. I might so easily have betrayed that trust if you’d told me to stay.”

“I’m sorry you’re suffering, Edward. But you should do what you can to keep the Swan child alive. Even if it means that you must leave us again.”

“I know, I know.”

“Why did you come back? You know how happy I am to have you here, but if this is too difficult…”

“I didn’t like feeling a coward,” I admitted.

We’d slowed—we were barely jogging through the darkness now.

“Better that than to put him in danger. He’ll be gone in a year or two.”

“You’re right, I know that.” Contrarily, his words only made me more anxious to stay. The boy would be gone in a year or two.…

Carlisle stopped running and I stopped with him. He turned to examine my expression.

_ But you’re not going to run, are you? _

I hung my head.

_ Is it pride, Edward? There’s no shame in— _

“No, it isn’t pride that keeps me here. Not now.”

_ Nowhere to go? _

I laughed shortly. “No. That wouldn’t stop me if I could make myself leave.”

“We’ll come with you, of course, if that’s what you need. You only have to ask. You’ve moved on without complaint for the rest of them. They won’t begrudge you this.”

I raised one eyebrow.

He laughed. “Yes, Rosalie might, but she owes you. Anyway, it’s much better for us to leave now, no damage done, than for us to leave later, after a life has been ended.” All humor was gone by the end.

I flinched at his words.

“Yes,” I agreed. My voice sounded hoarse.

_ But you’re not leaving? _

I sighed. “I should.”

“What holds you here, Edward? I’m failing to see.…”

“I don’t know if I can explain.” Even to myself, it made no sense.

He measured my expression for a long moment.

_ No, I do not see. But I will respect your privacy, if you prefer. _

“Thank you. It’s generous of you, seeing as how I give privacy to no one.” With one exception. And I was doing what I could to deprive him of that, wasn’t I?

_ We all have our quirks.  _ He laughed again.  _ Shall we? _

He’d just caught the scent of a small herd of deer. It was hard to rally much enthusiasm for what was, even under the best of circumstances, a less than mouthwatering aroma. Right now, with the memory of the boy’s blood fresh in my mind, the smell actually turned my stomach.

I sighed. “Let’s,” I agreed, though I knew that forcing more blood down my throat would help so little.

We both shifted into a hunting crouch and let the unappealing scent pull us silently forward.

It was colder when we returned home. The melted snow had refrozen; it was as if a thin sheet of glass covered everything—each pine needle, each fern frond, each blade of grass was iced over.

While Carlisle went to dress for his early shift at the hospital, I stayed by the river, waiting for the sun to rise. I felt almost… swollen from the amount of blood I’d consumed, but I knew the lack of actual thirst would mean little when I sat beside the boy again.

Cool and motionless as the stone I sat on, I stared at the dark water running beside the icy bank, stared right through it.

Carlisle was right. I should leave Forks. They could spread some story to explain my absence. Boarding school in Europe. Visiting distant relatives. Teenage runaway. The story didn’t matter. No one would question too intensely.

It was just a year or two, and then the boy would disappear. He would go on with his life—he would have a life to go on with. He’d go to college somewhere, start a career, perhaps marry someone. I could picture that—I could see the boy dressed all in white and walking at a measured pace, his arm through his father’s.

It was odd, the pain that image caused me. I couldn’t understand it. Was I begrudging of his future because it was something I could never have? That made no sense. Every one of the humans around me had that same potential ahead of them—a life—and I rarely stopped to envy them.

I should leave him to his future. Stop risking his life. That was the right thing to do. Carlisle always chose the right way. I should listen to him now. I would.

The sun rose behind the clouds, and the faint light glistened off all the frozen glass.

One more day, I decided. I would see him one more time. I could handle that. Perhaps I would mention my pending disappearance, set the story up.

This was going to be difficult. I could feel that in the heavy reluctance that was already making me think of excuses to stay—to extend the deadline to two days, three, four.… But I would do the right thing. I knew I could trust Carlisle’s advice. And I also knew that I was too conflicted to make the right decision alone.

Much too conflicted. How much of this reluctance came from my obsessive curiosity, and how much came from my unsatisfied appetite?

I went inside to change into fresh clothes for school.

Alice was waiting for me, sitting on the top step at the edge of the third floor.

_ You’re leaving again _ , she accused me.

I sighed and nodded.

_ I can’t see where you’re going this time. _

“I don’t know where I’m going yet,” I whispered.

_ I want you to stay. _

I shook my head.

_ Maybe Jazz and I could come with you? _

“They’ll need you all the more if I’m not here to watch out for them. And think of Esme. Would you take half her family away in one blow?”

_ You’re going to make her so unhappy. _

“I know. That’s why you have to stay.”

_ That’s not the same as having you here, and you know it. _

“Yes. But I have to do what’s right.”

_ There are many right ways, and many wrong ways, though, aren’t there? _

For a brief moment, she was swept away into one of her strange visions; I watched along with her as the indistinct images flickered and whirled. I saw myself mixed in with strange shadows that I couldn’t make out—hazy, imprecise forms. And then, suddenly, my skin was glittering in the bright sunlight of a small open meadow. This was a place I knew. There was a figure in the meadow with me, but again, it was indistinct, not there enough to recognize. The images shivered and disappeared as a million tiny choices rearranged the future again.

“I didn’t catch much of that,” I told her when the vision went dark.

_ Me either. Your future is shifting around so much I can’t keep up with any of it. I think, though… _

She stopped, and she flipped through a vast collection of other recent visions for me. They were all the same—blurry and vague.

“I think something is changing,” she said out loud. “Your life seems to be at a crossroads.”

I laughed grimly. “You do realize that you sound like a carnival fortune-teller, right?”

She stuck out her tiny tongue at me.

“Today is all right, though, isn’t it?” I asked, my voice abruptly apprehensive.

“I don’t see you killing anyone today,” she assured me.

“Thanks, Alice.”

“Go get dressed. I won’t say anything—I’ll let you tell the others when you’re ready.”

She stood and darted back down the stairs, her shoulders hunched slightly.  _ Miss you. Really. _

Yes, I would really miss her, too.

It was a quiet ride to school. Jasper could feel that Alice was upset about something, but he knew that if she wanted to talk about it, she would have done so already. Emmett and Rosalie were oblivious, having another of their moments, gazing into each other’s eyes with wonder—it was rather disgusting to watch from the outside. We were all quite aware how desperately in love they were. Or maybe I was just being bitter because I was the only one alone. Some days it was harder than others to live with three sets of perfectly matched lovers. This was one of them.

Maybe they would all be happier without me hanging around, ill-tempered and belligerent as the old man I should be by now.

Of course, the first thing I did when we reached the school was to look for the boy. Just preparing myself again.

Right.

It was embarrassing how my world suddenly seemed to be empty of everything but him.

It was easy enough to understand, though, really. After eighty years of the same thing every day and every night, any change became a point of absorption.

He had not yet arrived, but I could hear the thunderous chugging of his truck’s engine in the distance. I leaned against the side of the car to wait. Alice stayed with me while the others went straight to class. They were already bored with my fixation—it was incomprehensible to them how any human could hold my interest for so long, no matter how appealing he smelled.

The boy drove slowly into view, his eyes intent on the road and his hands tight on the wheel. He seemed anxious about something. It took me a second to figure out what that something was, to realize that every human wore the same expression today. Ah, the road was slick with ice, and they were all trying to drive more carefully. I could see he was taking the added risk seriously.

That seemed in line with what little I had learned of his character. I added this to my small list: he was a serious person, a responsible person.

He parked not too far from me, but he hadn’t noticed me standing here yet, staring at him. I wondered what he would do when he saw me? Blush and walk away? That was my first guess. But maybe he would stare back. Maybe he would come to talk to me.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs hopefully, just in case.

He got out of the truck with care, testing the slick ground before he put his weight on it. He didn’t look up, and that frustrated me. Maybe I would go talk to him.…

No, that would be wrong.

Instead of turning toward the school, he made his way to the rear of his truck, clinging to the side of the truck bed in a droll way, not trusting his footing. It made me smile, and I felt Alice’s eyes on my face. I didn’t listen to whatever this made her think—I was having too much fun watching the boy check his snow chains. He actually looked in some danger of falling, the way his feet were sliding around. No one else was having trouble—had he parked in the worst of the ice?

He paused there, staring down with a strange expression on his face. It was… tender. As if something about the tire was making him… emotional?

Again, the curiosity ached like a thirst. It was as if I had to know what he was thinking—as if nothing else mattered.

I would go talk to him. He looked like he could use a hand anyway, at least until he was off the slick pavement. Of course, I couldn’t offer him that, could I? I hesitated, torn. He would hardly welcome the touch of my cold white hand. I should have worn gloves—

“NO!” Alice gasped aloud.

Instantly, I scanned her thoughts, guessing at first that I had made a poor choice and she saw me doing something inexcusable. But it had nothing to do with me at all.

Tyler Crowley had chosen to take the turn into the parking lot at an injudicious speed. This choice would send him skidding across a patch of ice.

The vision came just half a second before the reality. Tyler’s van rounded the corner as I was still watching what had pulled the horrified gasp from Alice’s lips.

No, this vision had nothing to do with me, and yet it had everything to do with me, because Tyler’s van—the tires right now hitting the ice at the worst possible angle—was going to spin across the lot and crush the boy who had become the uninvited focal point of my world.

Even without Alice’s foresight it would have been simple enough to read the trajectory of the vehicle, flying out of Tyler’s control.

The boy, standing in the exactly wrong place at the back of his truck, looked up, confused by the sound of the screeching tires. He looked straight into my horror-struck eyes, and then turned to watch his approaching death.

_ Not him! _ The words shouted in my head as if they belonged to someone else.

Still locked into Alice’s thoughts, I saw the vision suddenly shift, but I had no time to see what the outcome would be.

I launched myself across the lot, throwing myself between the skidding van and the frozen boy. I moved so fast that everything was a streaky blur except for the object of my focus. He didn’t see me—no human eyes could have followed my flight—still staring at the hulking shape that was about to grind his body into the metal frame of his truck.

I caught him around the waist, moving with too much urgency to be as gentle as he would need me to be. In the hundredth of a second between yanking his slight form out of the path of death and crashing to the ground with him in my arms, I was vividly aware of his fragile, breakable body.

When I heard his head crack against the ice, it felt as though I had turned to ice, too.

But I didn’t even have a full second to ascertain his condition. I heard the van behind us, grating and squealing as it twisted around the sturdy iron body of the boy’s truck. It was changing course, arcing, coming for him again—as though he were a magnet, pulling it toward us.

A curse slid between my clenched teeth.

I had already done too much. As I’d nearly flown through the air to push him out of the way, I’d been fully aware of the mistake I was making. Knowing that it was a mistake did not stop me, but I was not oblivious to the risk I was taking—not just for myself, but for my entire family.

Exposure.

And this certainly wouldn’t help, but there was no way I was going to allow the van to succeed in its second attempt to take his life.

I dropped him and threw my hands out, catching the van before it could touch the boy. The force of it hurled me back into the car parked beside his truck, and I could feel its frame buckle behind my shoulders. The van shuddered and shivered against the unyielding obstacle of my arms, and then swayed, balancing unstably on its two far tires.

If I moved my hands, the back tire of the van was going to fall onto his legs.

Oh, for the love of all that was holy, would the catastrophes never end?

Was there anything else that could go wrong? I could hardly sit here, holding the van up, and wait for rescue. Nor could I throw the van away—there was the driver to consider, his thoughts incoherent with panic.

With an internal groan, I shoved the van so that it rocked away from us for an instant. As it fell back toward me, I caught it under the frame with my right hand while I wrapped my left arm around the boy’s waist again and dragged him out from under the threatening tire, pulling him tight against my side. Her body moved limply as I swung her around so that her legs would be in the clear—was he conscious? How much damage had I done to him in my impromptu rescue attempt?

I let the van drop, now that it could not hurt him. It crashed to the pavement, all the windows shattering in unison.

I knew that I was in the middle of a crisis. How much had he seen? Had any other witnesses watched me materialize at his side and then juggle the van while I tried to keep him out from under it? These questions should be my biggest concern.

But I was too anxious to really care about the threat of exposure as much as I should. Too panic-stricken that I might have injured him in my effort to save his life. Too frightened to have him this close to me, knowing what I would smell if I allowed myself to inhale. Too aware of the heat of his soft body, pressed against mine—even through the double obstacle of our jackets, I could feel that heat.

The first fear was the greatest fear. As the screaming of the witnesses erupted around us, I leaned down to examine his face, to see if he was conscious—hoping fiercely that he was not bleeding anywhere.

His eyes were open, staring in shock.

“Beau?” I asked urgently. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” He said the words automatically in a dazed voice.

Relief, so exquisite it was nearly pain, washed through me at the sound of his voice. I sucked in a breath through my teeth and for once did not mind the agony of the accompanying burn in my throat. In a strange way, I almost welcomed it.

He struggled to sit up, but I was not ready to release him. It felt somehow… safer? Better, at least, having him tucked into my side.

“Be careful,” I warned him. “I think you hit your head pretty hard.”

There had been no smell of fresh blood—a great mercy—but this did not rule out internal damage. I was abruptly anxious to get him to Carlisle and a full complement of radiology equipment.

“Ow,” he said, his tone comically shocked as he realized I was right about his head.

“That’s what I thought.” Relief made it funny to me, made me almost giddy.

“How in the…?” His voice trailed off, and his eyelids fluttered. “How did you get over here so fast?”

The relief turned sour, the humor vanished. He had noticed too much.

Now that it appeared the boy was in decent shape, the anxiety for my family became severe.

“I was standing right next to you, Beau.” I knew from experience that if I was very confident as I lied, it made any questioner less sure of the truth.

He struggled to move again, and this time I allowed it. I needed to breathe so that I could play my role correctly. I needed space from his warm-blooded heat so that it would not combine with his scent to overwhelm me. I slid away from him, as far as was possible in the small space between the wrecked vehicles.

He stared up at me, and I stared back. To look away first was a mistake only an incompetent liar would make, and I was not an incompetent liar. My expression was smooth, benign. It seemed to confuse him. That was good.

The accident scene was surrounded now. Mostly students, children, peering and pushing through the cracks to see if any mangled bodies were visible. There was a babble of shouting and a gush of shocked thought. I scanned the thoughts once to make sure there were no suspicions yet, and then tuned them out and concentrated only on the boy.

He was distracted by the bedlam. He glanced around, his expression still stunned, and tried to get to his feet.

I put my hand lightly on his shoulder to hold him down.

“Just stay put for now.” He seemed all right, but should he really be moving his neck? Again, I wished for Carlisle. My years of theoretical medical study were no match for his centuries of hands-on medical practice.

“But it’s cold,” he objected.

He had almost been crushed to death two distinct times, and it was the cold that worried him. A chuckle slid through my teeth before I could remember that the situation was not funny.

Beau blinked, and then his eyes focused on my face. “You were over there.”

That sobered me again.

He glanced toward the south, though there was nothing to see now but the crumpled side of the van. “You were by your car.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“I saw you,” he insisted. His voice was childlike in his stubbornness. 

“Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way.”

I stared deeply into his eyes, trying to will him into accepting my version—the only rational version on the table.

His jaw set. “No.”

I tried to stay calm, to not panic. If only I could keep him quiet for a few moments to give me a chance to destroy the evidence… and undermine his story by disclosing his head injury.

Shouldn’t it be easy to keep this silent, secretive boy quiet? If only he would follow my lead, just for a few moments…

“Please, Beau,” I said, and my voice was too intense, because I suddenly wanted his trust. Wanted it badly, and not just in regard to this accident. A stupid desire. What sense would it make for him to trust me?

“Why?” he asked, still defensive.

“Trust me,” I pleaded.

“Promise me.” His scent hit me like a tidal wave. The scent was different; it was not his blood I was smelling, but it was just as sweet and was just as alluring. The scent was actually so overwhelming, I had to shake myself from my stupor. 

“Promise you what, Beau?” It had come out harsher than I expected. What was happening to me right now?

“Promise me you will explain everything.” I felt compelled to agree, but I couldn’t. 

It made me angry to have to lie to him again, when I so wished that I could somehow deserve his confidence. When I answered him, it was a retort.

“Fine.”

“Fine,” he echoed in the same tone.

While the rescue attempt began around us—adults arriving, authorities called, sirens in the distance—I tried to ignore the boy and get my priorities in the right order. I searched through every mind in the lot, the witnesses and the latecomers both, but I could find nothing dangerous. Many were surprised to see me here beside Beau, but all assumed—as there was no other possible conclusion—that they had just not noticed me standing by the boy before the accident.

He was the only one who didn’t accept the easy explanation, but he would be considered the least reliable witness. He had been frightened, traumatized, not to mention sustaining a blow to his head. Possibly in shock. It would be acceptable for his story to be confused, wouldn’t it? No one would give it much credence above so many other spectators’.

I winced when I caught the thoughts of Rosalie, Jasper, and Emmett, just arriving on the scene. There would be hell to pay for this tonight.

I wanted to iron out the indentation my shoulders had made in the tan car, but the boy was too close. I’d have to wait until he was distracted.

It was frustrating to wait—so many eyes on me—as the humans struggled with the van, trying to pull it away from us. I might have helped them, just to speed the process, but I was already in enough trouble and the boy had sharp eyes. Finally, they were able to shift it far enough away for the EMTs to get to us with their stretchers.

A familiar grizzled face appraised me.

“Hey, Edward,” Brett Warner said. He was also a registered nurse, and I knew him well from the hospital. It was a stroke of luck—the only luck today—that he was the first through to us. In his thoughts, he was noting that I looked alert and calm. “You okay, kid?”

“Perfect, Brett. Nothing touched me. But I’m afraid Beau here might have a concussion. He really hit his head when I yanked him out of the way.”

Brett turned his attention to the boy, who shot me a fierce look of betrayal. Oh, that was right. he was the quiet martyr—he’d prefer to suffer in silence.

He did not contradict my story immediately, though, and this made me feel easier.

The next EMT tried to insist that I allow myself to be treated, but it wasn’t too difficult to dissuade him. I promised I would have my father examine me, and he let it go. With most humans, speaking with cool assurance was all that was needed. Most humans, just not Beau, of course. Did he fit into any of the normal patterns?

As they put a neck brace on him—and his face flushed scarlet with embarrassment—I used the moment of distraction to quietly rearrange the shape of the dent in the tan car with the back of my foot. Only my siblings noticed what I was doing, and I heard Emmett’s mental promise to catch anything I missed.

Grateful for his help—and more grateful that Emmett, at least, had already forgiven my dangerous choice—I was more relaxed as I climbed into the front seat of the ambulance next to Brett.

The chief of police arrived before they had gotten Beau into the back of the ambulance.

Though Beau’s father’s thoughts were past words, the panic and concern emanating from the man’s mind drowned out just about every other thought in the vicinity. Wordless anxiety and guilt, a great swell of them, washed out of him as he saw his only son on the gurney.

When Alice had warned me that killing Charlie Swan’s son would kill him, too, she had not been exaggerating.

My head bowed with that guilt as I listened to his panicked voice.

“Beau!” he shouted.

“I’m completely fine, Dad.” He sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

His assurance barely soothed his dread. He turned at once to the closest EMT and demanded more information.

It wasn’t until I heard him speaking, forming perfectly coherent sentences despite his panic, that I realized that his anxiety and concern were not wordless. I just… could not hear the exact words.

Hmm. Charlie Swan was not as silent as his son, but I could see where he got it from. Interesting.

I’d never spent much time around the town’s police chief. I’d always taken him for a man of slow thought—now I realized that I was the one who was slow. His thoughts were partially concealed, not absent. I could only make out the tenor, the tone of them.

I wanted to listen harder, to see if I could find in this new, lesser puzzle the key to the boy’s secrets. But Beau had been loaded into the back by then, and the ambulance was on its way.

It was hard to tear myself away from this possible solution to the mystery that had come to obsess me. But I had to think now—to look at what had been done today from every angle. I had to listen, to make sure that I had not put us all in so much danger that we would have to leave immediately. I had to concentrate.

There was nothing in the thoughts of the EMTs to worry me. As far as they could tell, there wasn’t anything seriously wrong with the boy. Beau was sticking to the story I’d provided. For now.

The first priority, when we reached the hospital, was to see Carlisle. I hurried through the automatic doors, but I was unable to totally forgo watching after Beau. I figuratively kept one eye on him through the paramedics’ thoughts.

It was easy to find my father’s familiar mind. He was in his small office, all alone—the second stroke of luck on this luckless day.

“Carlisle.”

He’d heard my approach and was alarmed as soon as he saw my face. He jumped to his feet and leaned forward across the neatly organized walnut desk.

Edward—you didn’t—?

“No, no, it’s not that.”

He took a deep breath.  _ Of course not. I’m sorry I entertained the thought. Your eyes, of course, I should have known. _ He noted my still-golden eyes with relief.

“He’s hurt, though, Carlisle, probably not seriously, but—”

“What happened?”

“A ridiculous car accident. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I couldn’t just stand there—let it crush him.…”

_ Start over, I don’t understand. How were you involved? _

“A van skidded across the ice,” I whispered. I stared at the wall behind him while I spoke. Instead of a throng of framed diplomas, he had one simple oil painting—a favorite of his, an undiscovered Hassam. “He was in the way. Alice saw it coming, but there wasn’t time to do anything but really run across the lot and shove him out of the way. No one noticed… except for him. I had to stop the van, too, but again, nobody saw that… besides him. I’m… I’m sorry, Carlisle. I didn’t mean to put us in danger.”

He circled the desk and embraced me for a short moment before stepping back.

_ You did the right thing. And it couldn’t have been easy for you. I’m proud of you, Edward. _

I could look him in the eye then. “He knows there’s something… wrong with me.”

“That doesn’t matter. If we have to leave, we leave. What has he said?”

I shook my head, a little frustrated. “Nothing yet.”

_ Yet? _

“He agreed to my version of events—but he’s expecting an explanation.”

He frowned, pondering this.

“He hit his head—well, I did that,” I continued quickly. “I knocked him to the ground fairly hard. He seems fine, but… I don’t think it will take much to discredit his account.”

I felt like a cad just saying the words.

Carlisle heard the distaste in my voice.  _ Perhaps that won’t be necessary. Let’s see what happens, shall we? It sounds like I have a patient to check on. _

“Please,” I said. “I’m so afraid that I hurt him.”

Carlisle’s expression brightened. He smoothed his fair hair—just a few shades lighter than his golden eyes—and laughed.

_ I t’s been an interesting day for you, hasn’t it? _

In his mind, I could see the irony, and it was humorous, at least to him. Quite the reversal of roles. Somewhere during that short, thoughtless second when I’d sprinted across the icy lot, I had transformed from killer to protector.

I laughed with him, remembering how sure I’d been that Beau would never need protecting from anything more than from me. There was an edge to my laugh because, van notwithstanding, that was still entirely true.

I waited alone in Carlisle’s office—one of the longest hours I had ever lived—listening to the hospital full of thoughts.

Tyler Crowley, the van’s driver, looked to be hurt worse than Beau, and the attention shifted to him while he waited his turn to be x-rayed. Carlisle kept in the background, trusting the PA’s diagnosis that the boy was only slightly injured. This made me anxious, but I knew he was right. One glance at Carlisle’s face and Beau would be immediately reminded of me, of the fact that there was something not right about my family, and that might set him talking.

He certainly had a willing enough partner to converse with. Tyler, consumed with guilt over the fact that he had almost killed him, couldn’t seem to shut up about it. I could see Beau’s expression through his eyes, and it was clear that he wished Tyler would stop. How did he not see that?

There was a tense moment for me when Tyler asked him how he’d gotten out of the way.

I waited, frozen, as he hesitated.

“Um…,” he heard him say. Then he paused for so long that Tyler wondered if his question had confused him. Finally, he went on. “Edward pulled me out of the way.”

I exhaled. And then my breathing accelerated. I’d never heard him speak my name before. I liked the way it sounded—even just hearing it through Tyler’s thoughts. I wanted to hear it for myself.…

“Edward Cullen,” he said, when Tyler didn’t realize whom he meant. I found myself at the door, my hand on the knob. The desire to see him was growing stronger. I had to remind myself of the need for caution.

“He was standing next to me.”

“Cullen?”  _ Huh. That’s weird. _ “I didn’t see him.”  _ I could have sworn… _ “Wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?”

“I think so. He’s here somewhere, but they didn’t make him use a stretcher.”

I saw the thoughtful look on his face, the suspicious tightening of his eyes, but these little changes in his expression were lost on Tyler.

_ He’s pretty, _ he was thinking, almost in surprise.  _ Even all messed up. Not my usual type. Still… I should take him out. Make up for today. _

I was out in the hall then, halfway to the emergency room, without thinking for one second about what I was doing. Luckily, the nurse entered the room before I could—it was Beau’s turn for X-rays. I leaned against the wall in a dark nook just around the corner and tried to get a grip on myself while he was wheeled away.

It didn’t matter that Tyler thought he was pretty. Anyone would notice that. There was no reason for me to feel… how did I feel? Annoyed? Or was angry closer to the truth? That made no sense at all.

Why did I agree he was pretty?

I stayed where I was for as long as I could, but impatience got the best of me and I took a roundabout way to the radiology room. He’d already been moved back to the ER, but I was able to peek at his X-rays while the nurse’s attention was elsewhere.

I felt calmer when I had. His head was fine. I hadn’t hurt him, not really.

Carlisle caught me there.

_ You look better, _ he commented.

I just looked straight ahead. We weren’t alone, the halls full of orderlies and visitors.

_ Ah, yes. _ He stuck Beau’s X-rays to the lightboard, but I didn’t need a second look.  _ I see. He’s absolutely fine. Well done, Edward. _

The sound of my father’s approval created a mixed reaction in me. I would have been pleased, except that I knew he would not approve of what I was going to do now. At least, he would not approve if he knew my real motivations.

“I think I’m going to go talk to him—before he sees you,” I murmured under my breath. “Act natural, like nothing happened. Smooth it over.” All acceptable reasons.

Carlisle nodded absently, still looking over the X-rays. “Good idea. Hmm.”

I looked to see what had his interest.

_ That’s an odd anomaly. I will have to ask him about that. And look at all the healed contusions! How many times did his mother drop him? _ Carlisle laughed to himself at his joke.

“I’m beginning to think the boy just has really bad luck. Always in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

_ Forks is certainly the wrong place for him, with you here. _

I flinched.

_ Go ahead. Smooth things over. I’ll join you momentarily. _

I walked away quickly, feeling guilty. Perhaps I was too good a liar if I could fool Carlisle.

When I got to the ER, Tyler was mumbling under his breath, still apologizing. The boy was trying to escape Tyler’s remorse by pretending to sleep. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was not even, and now and then his fingers would twitch impatiently.

I stared at his face for a long moment. This was the last time I would see him. 

The fact triggered an acute aching in my chest. Was it because I hated to leave any puzzle unsolved? That did not seem enough of an explanation.

Finally, I took a deep breath and moved into view.

When Tyler saw me, he started to speak, but I put one finger to my lips.

“Is he sleeping?” I murmured.

Beau’s eyes snapped open and focused on my face. They widened momentarily, and then narrowed in anger or suspicion. I remembered that I had a role to play, so I smiled at him as if nothing unusual had happened this morning—besides a blow to his head and a bit of imagination run wild.

“Hey, Edward,” Tyler said. “I’m really sorry—”

I raised one hand to halt his apology. “No blood, no foul,” I said wryly. Without thinking, I smiled too widely at my private joke.

Tyler shivered and looked away.

It was amazingly easy to ignore Tyler, lying no more than four feet from me, his deeper wounds still oozing blood. I’d never understood how Carlisle was able to do that—ignore the blood of his patients in order to treat them. Wouldn’t the constant temptation be so distracting, so dangerous? But now… I could see how, if you were focusing on something else hard enough, the temptation would be nothing at all.

Even fresh and exposed, Tyler’s blood had nothing on Beau’s.

I kept my distance from him, seating myself on the foot of Tyler’s mattress.

“So, what’s the verdict?” I asked him.

His lower lip pushed out a little. “There’s nothing wrong with me at all, but they won’t let me go. How come you aren’t strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?”

His impatience made me smile again.

I could hear Carlisle in the hall now.

“It’s all about who you know,” I said lightly. “But don’t worry, I came to spring you.”

I watched his reaction carefully as my father entered the room. His eyes went round and his mouth actually fell open in surprise. I groaned internally. Yes, he’d certainly noticed the resemblance.

“So, Mister Swan, how are you feeling?” Carlisle asked. He had a wonderfully soothing bedside manner that put most patients at ease within moments. I couldn’t tell how it affected Beau.

“I’m fine,” he said quietly.

Carlisle clipped his X-rays to the lightboard by the bed. “Your X-rays look good. Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard.”

He sighed and said “It’s fine” again, but this time impatience leaked into his voice. He glowered once in my direction.

Carlisle stepped closer to him and ran his fingers gently over his scalp until he found the bump under Beau’s hair.

I was caught off guard by the wave of emotion that crashed upon me.

I had seen Carlisle work with humans a thousand times. Years ago, I had even assisted him informally—though only in situations where blood was not involved. So it wasn’t a new thing to me, to watch him interact with the boy as if he were as human as he was. I’d envied his control many times, but that was not the same as this emotion. I envied him more than his control. I ached for the difference between Carlisle and me—that he could touch Beau so gently, without fear, knowing he would never harm him.

He winced, and I twitched in my seat. I had to concentrate for a moment to regain my relaxed posture.

“Tender?” Carlisle asked.

His chin jerked up a fraction. “Not really,” he said.

Another small piece of his character fell into place: He was brave. He didn’t like to show weakness.

Possibly the most vulnerable creature I’d ever seen, and he didn’t want to seem weak. A chuckle slid through my lips.

He shot another glare at me.

“Before you leave, I just have a quick question about something in your X-rays.” Beau was clearly fed up with this whole situation.

“Well, get on with it,” he snapped. Carlisle was taken aback by the sudden shift in this boy’s demeanor, but Beau didn't seem to notice. 

“We found abnormalities on your skull. Is this something that existed prior to now?” Abnormalities? I finally took a proper look at the X-rays above Beau’s head. The front of his skull appears thick, far thicker than it should be. The thickest points are on opposite sides of the forehead. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that they were horns.

“Yes. It’s a birth defect. I’ve had it since I was born. I was told it presented no threat to my well being, so we left it alone.” How many doctors had asked him about it? If he could answer that question without even having to confirm what Carlisle was specifically asking about, it must have been a lot. 

Carlisle seemed to have accepted the explanation. There was the slightest bit of doubt that crossed his face.

“Well,” Carlisle said, “your father is in the waiting room—you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all.”

His father was here? I swept through the thoughts in the crowded waiting room, but I couldn’t pick his subtle mental voice out of the group before Beau was speaking again, his face anxious.

“Can’t I go back to school?” 

“Maybe you should take it easy today,” Carlisle suggested.

His eyes flickered back to me. “Does he get to go to school?”

Act normal, smooth things over… ignore the way it feels when he looks me in the eye.…

“Someone has to spread the good news that we survived,” I said.

“Actually,” Carlisle corrected, “most of the school seems to be in the waiting room.”

I anticipated his reaction this time—his aversion to attention. He didn’t disappoint.

“Oh no,” he moaned, and put his hands over his face.

I liked that I’d finally guessed right. That I was beginning to understand him.

“Do you want to stay?” Carlisle asked.

“No, no!” he said quickly, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress and sliding down until his feet were on the floor. He stumbled forward, off-balance, into Carlisle’s arms. He caught and steadied him.

Again, the envy flooded through me.

“I’m fine,” he said before Carlisle could comment, faint pink in his cheeks.

Of course, that wouldn’t bother Carlisle. He made sure he was balanced, and then dropped his hands.

“Take some Tylenol for the pain,” he instructed.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

Carlisle smiled as he signed his chart. “It sounds like you were extremely lucky.”

He turned his face slightly, to stare at me with hard eyes. “Lucky Edward happened to be standing next to me.”

“Oh, well, yes,” Carlisle agreed quickly, hearing the same thing in his voice that I heard. He hadn’t written his suspicions off as imagination. Not yet.

_ All yours _ , Carlisle thought.  _ Handle it as you think best. _

“Thanks so much,” I whispered, quick and quiet. Neither human heard me. Carlisle’s lips turned up a tiny bit at my sarcasm as he turned to Tyler. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to stay with us just a little bit longer,” he said as he began examining the superficial lacerations left by the shattered windshield.

Well, I’d made the mess, so it was only fair that I had to deal with it.

Beau walked deliberately toward me, not stopping until he was uncomfortably close. I remembered how I had hoped, before all the chaos, that he would approach me. This was like a mockery of that wish.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he hissed at me.

His warm breath swept across my face and I had to stagger back a step. His appeal had not abated one bit. Every time he was near me, it triggered all my worst, most urgent instincts. Venom flowed in my mouth, and my body yearned to strike—to wrench him into my arms and crush his throat to my teeth.

My mind was stronger than my body, but just barely.

“Your father is waiting for you,” I reminded him, my jaw clenched tight.

He glanced toward Carlisle and Tyler. Tyler was paying us no attention at all, but Carlisle was monitoring my every breath.

_ Carefully, Edward. _

“I’d like to speak to you. Alone. If you don’t mind,” he insisted in a low voice.

I wanted to tell him that I did mind very much, but I knew I would have to do this eventually. I might as well get on with it.

I was full of so many conflicting emotions as I stalked out of the room, listening to his stumbling footsteps behind me, trying to keep up.

I had a show to put on now. I knew the role I would play—I had the character down: I would be the villain. I would lie and ridicule and be cruel.

It went against all my better impulses—the human impulses that I’d clung to through so many years. I’d never wanted to deserve trust more than in this moment, when I had to destroy all possibility of it.

It made it worse to know that this would be the last memory he would have of me. This was my farewell scene.

I turned on him.

“What do you want?” I asked coldly.

He cringed back slightly from my hostility. His eyes turned bewildered, his face shifting into the very expression that had haunted me.

“You owe me an explanation,” he said in a small voice. What little color he had drained from his ivory skin.

It was very hard to keep my voice harsh. “I saved your life—I don’t owe you anything.”

He flinched—it stung like acid to watch my words hurt him.

“You promised,” he whispered.

“Beau, you hit your head, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His chin came up then. “There’s nothing wrong with my head.”

He was angry now, and that made it easier for me. I met his glare, arranging my face so it was colder, harder.

“What do you want from me, Beau?”

“I want to know the truth. I want to know why I’m lying for you.”

What he wanted was only fair—it frustrated me to have to deny him.

“What do you think happened?” I nearly growled.

His words poured out in a torrent. “All I know is that you weren’t anywhere near me—Tyler didn’t see you, either, so don’t tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both—and it didn’t, and your hands left dents in the side of it—and you left a dent in the other car, and you’re not hurt at all—and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up.…” Suddenly, he clenched his teeth together. 

I stared at him, my expression thoroughly derisive, though what I really felt was awe; he had seen everything.

“You think I lifted a van off you?” I asked, elevating the level of sarcasm in my tone.

He answered with one stiff nod.

My voice grew more mocking. “Nobody will believe that, you know.”

He made an effort to control his emotions—his anger, it looked like. When he answered me, he spoke each word with slow deliberation. “I’m not going to tell anybody.”

He meant it—I could see that in his eyes. Even furious and betrayed, he would keep my secret.

Why?

The shock of it ruined my carefully designed expression for half a second, and then I pulled myself together.

“Then why does it matter?” I asked, working to keep my voice severe.

“It matters to me,” he said intensely. “I want the truth, like you promised me.”

He was asking me to trust him. Just as I wanted him to trust me. But this was a line I could not cross.

My voice stayed callous. “Can’t you just thank me and get it over with?”

“Thank you,” he said, and then he fumed in silence, waiting.

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“No.”

“In that case…” I couldn’t tell him the truth if I wanted to… and I didn’t want to. I’d rather he made up his own story than know what I was, because nothing could be worse than the truth—I was an undead nightmare, straight from the pages of a horror novel. “I hope you enjoy disappointment.”

We scowled at each other.

He flushed pink and ground his teeth again. “Why did you even bother?”

His question wasn’t one that I was expecting or prepared to answer. I lost my hold on the role I was playing. I felt the mask slip from my face, and I told him—this one time—the truth.

“I don’t know.”

I memorized his face one last time—it was still set in lines of anger, the blood not yet faded from his cheeks—and then I turned and walked away from him.


	7. Visions (Edward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is the second chapter! 
> 
> The next two chapters after this, as I've been stating and hinting at, are major turning points in the story, and its where a major deviation from the original Twilight/Midnight Sun storylines happens. This affects every interaction after this point, and makes it all hit different. So yeah, I hope you're all ready for it. If you guys thought it was wild before, then oh boy this is gonna be some wild shit. 
> 
> Anyways, I got more writing to do before I can post those next chapters.

I went back to school. This was the right thing to do, the most inconspicuous way to behave.

By the end of the day, almost all the other students had returned to class, too. Just Tyler and Beau and a few others—who were probably using the accident as a chance to ditch—remained absent.

It shouldn’t have been so hard for me to do the right thing. But all afternoon, I was gritting my teeth against the urge that had me yearning to ditch, too—in order to go find the boy again.

Like a stalker. An obsessed stalker. An obsessed vampire stalker.

School today was—somehow, impossibly—even more boring than it had seemed just a week ago. Coma-like. It was as if the color had drained from the bricks, the trees, the sky, the faces around me.… I stared at the cracks in the walls.

There was another right thing I should be doing… that I was not. Of course, it was also a wrong thing. It all depended on one’s perspective.

From the perspective of a Cullen—not just a vampire, but a Cullen, someone who belonged to a family, such a rare state in our world—the right thing would have gone something like this:

“I’m surprised to see you in class, Edward. I heard you were involved in that awful accident this morning.”

“Yes, I was, Mr. Banner, but I was the lucky one.” A friendly smile. “I didn’t get hurt at all. I wish I could say the same for Tyler and Beau.”

“How are they?”

“I think Tyler is fine… just some superficial scrapes from the windshield glass. I’m not sure about Beau, though.” A worried frown. “He might have a concussion. I heard he was pretty incoherent for a while—seeing things, even. I know the doctors were worried.…”

That’s how it should have gone. That’s what I owed my family. Instead, it went like this. 

“I’m surprised to see you in class, Edward. I heard you were involved in that awful accident this morning.”

No smile. “I wasn’t hurt.”

Mr. Banner shifted his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable.

“Do you have any idea how Tyler Crowley and Beau Swan are? I heard there were some injuries.…”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

Mr. Banner cleared his throat. “Er, right…,” he said, my cold stare making his voice sound a bit strained.

He walked quickly back to the front of the classroom and began his lecture. 

It was the wrong thing to do. Unless you looked at it from a more obscure point of view.

It just seemed so… so unchivalrous to slander the boy behind his back, especially when he was proving more trustworthy than I could have dreamed. He hadn’t said anything to betray me, despite having good reason to do so. Would I betray him when he had done nothing but keep my secret?

I had a nearly identical conversation with Mrs. Goff—just in Spanish rather than in English—and Emmett gave me a long look.

_ I hope you have a good explanation for what happened today. Rose is on the warpath. _

I rolled my eyes without looking at him.

I actually had come up with a perfectly sound explanation. Just suppose I hadn’t done anything to stop the van from crushing the boy. I recoiled from that thought. But if he had been hit, if he’d been mangled and bleeding, the red fluid spilling, wasting on the blacktop, the scent of the fresh blood pulsing through the air…

I shuddered again, but not just in horror. Part of me shivered in desire. No, I would not have been able to watch him bleed without exposing us all in a much more flagrant and shocking way.

It was a perfectly sound excuse… but I wouldn’t use it. It was too shameful.

And I hadn’t thought of it until long after the fact, regardless.

_ Look out for Jasper _ , Emmett went on, oblivious to my reverie.  _ He’s not as angry… but he’s more resolved. _

I saw what he meant, and for a moment the room swam around me. The flash of rage was so all-consuming that a red haze clouded my vision. I thought I would choke on it.

_ EDWARD! GET A GRIP! _ Emmett shouted at me in his head. His hand came down on my shoulder, holding me in my seat before I could jump to my feet. He rarely used his full strength—there was almost never a need, for he was so much stronger than any vampire we’d ever encountered—but he used it now. He gripped my arm, rather than pushing me down. If he’d been pushing, the chair under me would have collapsed.

_ EASY! _ he ordered.

I tried to calm myself, but it was hard. The rage burned in my head.

_ Jasper’s not going to do anything until we all talk. I just thought you should know the direction he’s headed. _

I concentrated on relaxing and felt Emmett’s hand loosen.

_ Try not to make more of a spectacle of yourself. You’re in enough trouble as it is. _

I took a deep breath and Emmett released me.

I searched around the room routinely, but our confrontation had been so short and silent that only a few people sitting behind Emmett had even noticed. None of them knew what to make of it, and they shrugged it off. The Cullens were freaks—everyone knew that already.

_ Damn, kid, you’re a mess, _ Emmett added, sympathy in his tone.

“Bite me,” I muttered under my breath, and I heard his low chuckle.

Emmett didn’t hold grudges, and I probably ought to have been more grateful for his easy going acceptance. But I could see that Jasper’s intentions made sense to him, that he was considering how it might be the best course of action.

The rage simmered, barely under control. Yes, Emmett was stronger than I was, but he’d yet to beat me in a wrestling match. He claimed that this was because I cheated, but hearing thoughts was just as much a part of who I was as his immense strength was a part of him. We were evenly matched in a fight.

A fight? Was that where this was headed? Was I going to fight with my family over a human I barely knew?

I thought about that for a moment, thought about the fragile feel of the boy’s body in my arms in juxtaposition with Jasper, Rose, and Emmett—supernaturally strong and fast, killing machines by nature.

Yes, I would fight for him. Against my family. I shuddered.

But it wasn’t fair to leave him undefended when I was the one who’d put him in danger!

I couldn’t win alone, though, not against the three of them, and I wondered who my allies would be.

Carlisle, certainly. He would not fight anyone, but he would be wholly against Rose’s and Jasper’s designs. That might be all I needed.

Esme, doubtful. She would not side against me, either, and she would hate to disagree with Carlisle, but she would be for any plan that kept her family intact. Her first priority would not be what was right, but me. If Carlisle was the soul of our family, then Esme was the heart. He gave us a leader who deserved following; she made that following into an act of love. We all loved each other—even under the fury I felt toward Jasper and Rose right now, even planning to fight them to save the boy, I knew that I loved them.

Alice… I had no idea. It would probably depend on what she saw coming. She would side with the winner, I imagined.

So I would have to do this without help. I wasn’t a match for them alone, but I wasn’t going to let the boy be hurt because of me. That might mean evasive action.

My rage dulled a bit with the sudden black humor. I tried to imagine how the boy would react to my kidnapping him. Of course, I rarely guessed his reactions right—but what other response could he have besides terror?

I wasn’t sure how to manage that, though—kidnapping him. I wouldn’t be able to stand being close to him for very long. Perhaps I would just deliver him back to his mother. Even that much would be fraught with danger. For him.

And also for me, I realized suddenly. If I were to kill him by accident… I wasn’t certain exactly how much pain that would cause me, but I knew it would be multifaceted and intense.

The time passed quickly while I mulled over all the complications ahead of me: the argument waiting for me at home, the conflict with my family, the lengths I might be forced to go to afterward.

Well, I couldn’t complain that life outside this school was monotonous. The boy had changed that much.

Emmett and I walked silently to the car when the bell rang. He was worrying about me and worrying about Rosalie. He knew he would have no choice when it came time to pick sides, and it bothered him.

The others were waiting for us in the car, also silent. We were a very quiet group. Only I could hear the shouting.

_ Idiot! Lunatic! Moron! Jackass! Selfish, irresponsible fool! _ Rosalie kept up a constant stream of insults at the top of her mental lungs. It made it hard to hear the others, but I ignored her as best I could.

Emmett was right about Jasper. He was sure of his course.

Alice was troubled, worrying about Jasper, flipping through images of the future. No matter which direction Jasper came at the boy, Alice always saw me there, blocking him. Interesting… neither Rosalie nor Emmett was with him in these visions. So Jasper planned to work alone. That would even things up.

Jasper was the best, certainly the most experienced fighter among us. My one advantage lay in that I could hear his moves before he made them.

I had never fought more than playfully with my brothers—just horsing around. I felt sick at the thought of really trying to hurt Jasper.

No, not that. Just to block him. That was all.

I concentrated on Alice, memorizing Jasper’s different avenues of attack.

As I did that, her visions shifted, moving farther and farther away from the Swans’ house. I was cutting him off earlier.

_ Stop that, Edward! _ she snapped. I _ t can’t happen this way. I won’t let it. _

I didn’t answer her, I just kept watching.

She began searching further ahead, into the misty, unsure realm of distant possibilities. Everything was shadowy and vague.

The entire way home, the charged silence did not lift. I parked in the big garage off the house. Carlisle’s Mercedes was there, next to Emmett’s big Jeep, Rose’s M3, and my Vanquish. I was glad Carlisle was already home—this silence could end explosively, and I wanted him there when that happened.

We went straight to the dining room.

The room was, of course, never used for its intended purpose. But it was furnished with a long, oval mahogany table surrounded by chairs—we were scrupulous about having all the correct props in place. Carlisle liked to use it as a conference room. In a group with such strong and disparate personalities, sometimes it was necessary to discuss things in a calm, seated manner.

I had a feeling that the setting was not going to help much today.

Carlisle sat in his usual spot at the eastern head of the room. Esme was beside him—they held hands on top of the table.

Esme’s eyes were on me, their golden depths full of concern.

_ Stay. _ It was her only thought. She had no idea of what was about to start; she was just worried about me.

I wished I could smile at the woman who was truly a mother to me, but I had no reassurances for her now.

I sat on Carlisle’s other side.

Carlisle had a better sense of what was coming. His lips were pressed tightly together and his forehead was creased.

The expression looked too old for his young face.

As everyone else sat, I could see the lines being drawn.

Rosalie sat directly across from Carlisle, at the other end of the long table. She glared at me, never looking away.

Emmett sat beside her, his face and thoughts both wry.

Jasper hesitated, and then went to stand against the wall behind Rosalie. He was decided, regardless of the outcome of this discussion. My teeth locked together.

Alice was the last to come in, and her eyes were focused on something far away—the future, still too indistinct for her to make use of it. Without seeming to think about it, she sat next to Esme. She rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache. Jasper twitched uneasily and considered joining her, but he kept his place.

I took a deep breath. I had started this—I should speak first.

“I’m sorry,” I said, looking first at Rose, then Jasper, and then Emmett. “I didn’t mean to put any of you at risk. It was thoughtless, and I take full responsibility for my hasty action.”

Rosalie glared at me balefully. “What do you mean, ‘take full responsibility’? Are you going to fix it?”

“Not the way you mean,” I said, working to keep my voice even and quiet. “I was already planning to leave before this happened. I’ll go now…”  _ If I believe that the boy will be safe, _ I amended in my head.  _ If I believe that none of you will touch him. _ “The situation will resolve itself.”

“No,” Esme murmured. “No, Edward.”

I patted her hand. “It’s just a few years.”

“Esme’s right, though,” Emmett said. “You can’t go anywhere. That would be the opposite of helpful. We have to know what people are thinking, now more than ever.”

“Alice will catch anything major,” I disagreed.

Carlisle shook his head. “I think Emmett is right, Edward. The boy will be more likely to talk if you disappear. It’s all of us leave, or none of us.”

“He won’t say anything,” I insisted quickly. Rose was building up to the explosion, and I wanted this fact out there first.

“You don’t know his mind,” Carlisle reminded me.

“I know this much. Alice, back me up.”

Alice stared up at me wearily. “I can’t see what will happen if we just ignore this.” She glanced at Rose and Jasper.

No, she couldn’t see that future—not when Rosalie and Jasper were so decided against ignoring the incident.

Rosalie’s palm smacked down on the table with a loud bang. “We can’t allow the human a chance to say anything. Carlisle, you must see that. Even if we decided to all disappear, it’s not safe to leave stories behind us. We live so differently from the rest of our kind—you know there are those who would love an excuse to point fingers. We have to be more careful than anyone else!”

“We’ve left rumors behind us before,” I reminded her.

“Just rumors and suspicions, Edward. Not eyewitnesses and evidence!”

“Evidence!” I scoffed.

But Jasper was nodding, his eyes hard.

“Rose—” Carlisle began.

“Let me finish, Carlisle. It doesn’t have to be any big production. The boy hit his head today. So maybe that injury turns out to be more serious than it looked.” Rosalie shrugged. “Every mortal goes to sleep with the chance of never waking up. The others would expect us to clean up after ourselves. Technically, that would make it Edward’s job, but this is obviously beyond him. You know I’m capable of control. I would leave no evidence behind me.”

“Yes, Rosalie, we all know how proficient an assassin you are,” I snarled.

She hissed at me, momentarily beyond words. If only that could last.

“Edward, please,” Carlisle said. Then he turned to Rosalie. “Rosalie, I looked the other way in Rochester because I felt that you were owed your justice. The men you killed had wronged you monstrously. This is not the same situation. The Swan boy is entirely innocent.”

“It’s not personal, Carlisle,” Rosalie said through her teeth. “It’s to protect us all.”

There was a brief moment of silence while Carlisle thought through his answer. When he nodded, Rosalie’s eyes lit up. She should have known better. Even if I hadn’t been able to read his thoughts, I could have anticipated his next words. Carlisle never compromised.

“I know you mean well, Rosalie, but… I’d like very much for our family to be worth protecting. The occasional… accident or lapse in control is a regrettable part of what we are.” It was very like him to include himself in the plural, though he had never had such a lapse himself. “To murder a blameless child in cold blood is another thing entirely. I believe the risk he presents, whether he speaks his suspicions or not, is nothing to the greater risk. If we make exceptions to protect ourselves, we risk something much more important. We risk losing the essence of who we are.”

I controlled my expression very carefully. It wouldn’t do at all to grin. Or to applaud, as I wished I could.

Rosalie scowled. “It’s just being responsible.”

“It’s being callous,” Carlisle corrected gently. “Every life is precious.”

Rosalie sighed heavily and her lower lip pouted out. Emmett patted her shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Rose,” he encouraged in a low voice.

“The question,” Carlisle continued, “is whether we should move on.”

“No,” Rosalie moaned. “We just got settled. I don’t want to start my sophomore year in high school again!”

“You could keep your present age, of course,” Carlisle said.

“And have to move again that much sooner?” she countered.

Carlisle shrugged.

“I like it here! There’s so little sun, we get to be almost normal.”

“Well, we certainly don’t have to decide now. We can wait and see if it becomes necessary. Edward seems certain of the Swan boy’s silence.”

Rosalie snorted.

But I was no longer worried about Rose. I could see that she would go along with Carlisle’s decision, no matter how infuriated she was with me. Their conversation had moved on to unimportant details.

Jasper remained unmoved.

I understood why. Before he and Alice had met, he’d lived in a combat zone, a relentless theater of war. He knew the consequences of flouting the rules—he’d seen the grisly aftermath with his own eyes.

It said much that he had not tried to calm Rosalie down with his extra faculties, nor did he now try to rile her up. He was holding himself aloof from this discussion—above it.

“Jasper,” I said.

He met my gaze, his face expressionless.

“He won’t pay for my mistake. I won’t allow that.”

“He benefits from it, then? He should have died today, Edward. I would only set that right.”

I repeated myself, emphasizing each word. “I will not allow it.”

His eyebrows shot up. He wasn’t expecting this—he hadn’t imagined that I would act to stop him.

He shook his head once. “And I will not let Alice live in danger, even a slight danger. You don’t feel about anyone the way I feel about her, Edward, and you haven’t lived through what I’ve lived through, whether you’ve seen my memories or not. You don’t understand.”

“I’m not disputing that, Jasper. But I’m telling you now, I won’t allow you to hurt Beaufort Swan.”

We stared at each other—not glaring, but measuring the opposition. I felt him sample the mood around me, testing my determination.

“Jazz,” Alice said, interrupting us.

He held my gaze for a moment more, and then looked at her. “Don’t bother telling me you can protect yourself, Alice. I already know that. It doesn’t change—”

“That’s not what I’m going say,” Alice interrupted. “I was going to ask you for a favor.”

I saw what was on her mind, and my mouth fell open with an audible gasp. I stared at her, shocked, only vaguely aware that everyone besides Alice and Jasper was now eyeing me warily.

“I know you love me. Thanks. But I would really appreciate it if you didn’t try to kill Beau. First of all, Edward’s quite serious and I don’t want you two fighting. Secondly, he’s my friend. At least, he’s going to be.”

It was clear as glass in her head: Alice, smiling, with her icy white arm around the boy’s warm, fragile shoulders. And Beau was smiling, too, his arm around Alice’s waist.

The vision was rock solid; only the timing of it was unsure.

“But… Alice…,” Jasper gasped. I couldn’t manage to turn my head to see his expression. I couldn’t tear myself away from the image in Alice’s vision in order to hear his thoughts.

“I’m going to love him someday, Jazz. I’ll be very put out with you if you don’t let him be.”

I was still locked into Alice’s thoughts. I saw the future shimmer as Jasper’s resolve floundered in the face of her unexpected request.

“Ah,” she sighed—his indecision had cleared a new future. “See? Beau’s not going to say anything. There’s nothing to worry about.”

The way she said the boy’s name… like they were already close confidants.

“Alice,” I choked. “What… does this…?”

“I told you there was a change coming. I don’t know, Edward.” But she locked her jaw, and I could see that there was more. She was trying not to think about it. She was focusing very hard on Jasper suddenly, though he was too stunned to have progressed much in his decision-making.

She did this sometimes when she was trying to keep something from me.

“What, Alice? What are you hiding?”

I heard Emmett grumble. He always got frustrated when Alice and I had these kinds of conversations.

She shook her head, trying not to let me in.

“Is it about the boy?” I demanded. “Is it about Beau?”

She had her teeth gritted in concentration, but when I spoke Beau’s name, she slipped. Her slip only lasted the tiniest portion of a second, but that was long enough.

“NO!” I shouted. I heard my chair hit the floor, and only then realized I was on my feet.

“Edward!” Carlisle was on his feet, too, gripping my shoulder. I was barely aware of him.

“It’s solidifying,” Alice whispered. “Every minute you’re more decided. There are really only two ways left for him. It’s one or the other, Edward.”

I could see what she saw… but I could not accept it.

“No,” I said again. There was no volume to my denial. My legs felt hollow, and I had to brace myself against the table. Carlisle’s hand fell away.

“That is so annoying,” Emmett complained.

“I have to leave,” I whispered to Alice, ignoring him.

“Edward, we’ve already been over that,” Emmett said loudly. “That’s the best way to start the boy talking. Besides, if you take off, we won’t know for sure if he’s talking or not. You have to stay and deal with this.”

“I don’t see you going anywhere, Edward,” Alice told me. “I don’t know if you can leave anymore.”  _ Think about it, _ she added silently.  _ Think about leaving. _

I understood what she meant. Yes, the idea of never seeing the boy again was… painful. I’d already felt that in the hospital hallway where I’d given him such a harsh farewell. But now leaving was even more necessary. I couldn’t sanction either future I’d apparently condemned him to.

_ I’m not entirely sure of Jasper, Edward _ , Alice went on.  _ If you leave, if he thinks he’s a danger to us… _

“I don’t hear that,” I contradicted her, still only halfway aware of our audience. Jasper was wavering. He would not do something that would hurt Alice.

_ Not right this moment. Will you risk his life, leave him undefended? _

“Why are you doing this to me?” I groaned. My head fell into my hands.

I was not Beau’s protector. I could not be that. Wasn’t Alice’s divided future enough proof of that?

_ I love him, too. Or I will. It’s not the same, but I want him around for that. _

“Love him, too?” I whispered, incredulous.

She sighed. _ You are so blind, Edward. _

_ Can’t you see where you’re headed? Can’t you see where you already are? It’s more inevitable than the sun rising tomorrow morning. See what I see.… _

I shook my head, horrified. “No.” I tried to shut out the visions she revealed to me. “I don’t have to follow that course. I’ll leave. I will change the future.”

“You can try,” she said, her voice skeptical.

“Oh, come on!” Emmett bellowed.

“Pay attention,” Rose hissed at him. “Alice sees him falling for a human! How classically Edward!” She made a gagging sound.

I scarcely heard her.

“What?” Emmett said, startled. Then his booming laugh echoed through the room. “Is that what’s been going on?” He laughed again. “Tough break, Edward.”

I felt his hand touch my arm, but I shook it off absently. I couldn’t pay attention to him.

“Fall for a human?” Esme repeated in a stunned voice. “For the boy he saved today? Fall in love with him?”

“What do you see, Alice? Exactly,” Jasper demanded.

She turned toward him. I continued to stare numbly at the side of her face.

“It all depends on whether he is strong enough. Either he’ll kill him himself”—she turned to meet my gaze again, glaring—“which would really irritate me, Edward, not to mention what it would do to you—” She faced Jasper again. “Or he’ll be one of us someday.”

Someone gasped; I didn’t look to see who.

“That’s not going to happen!” I was shouting again. “Either one!”

Alice spoke as if she hadn’t heard me. “It all depends,” she repeated. “He may be just strong enough not to kill him—but it will be close. It will take an amazing amount of control,” she mused. “More, even, than Carlisle has. The only thing he’s not strong enough to do is stay away from him. That’s a lost cause.”

I couldn’t find my voice. No one else seemed to be able to, either. The room was still.

I stared at Alice, and everyone else stared at me. I could see my own horrified expression from five different viewpoints.

After a long moment, Carlisle sighed. “Well, this… complicates things.”

“I’ll say,” Emmett agreed. His voice was still close to laughter. Trust Emmett to find the joke in the destruction of my life.

“I suppose the plans remain the same, though,” Carlisle said thoughtfully. “We’ll stay, and watch. Obviously, no one will… hurt the… human.” He cleared his throat.

I stiffened.

“No,” Jasper said quietly. “I can agree to that. If Alice sees only two ways—”

“No!” My voice was not just a shout or a growl or a cry of despair, but some combination of the three. “No!”

I had to leave, to be away from the noise of their thoughts—Rosalie’s self-righteous disgust, Emmett’s humor, Carlisle’s never-ending patience.…

Worse: Alice’s confidence. Jasper’s confidence in that confidence.

Worst of all: Esme’s… joy.

I stalked out of the room. Esme reached for my hand as I passed, but I didn’t acknowledge the gesture.

I was running before I was out of the house. I cleared the lawn and river in one bound and raced into the forest. The rain was back again, falling so heavily that I was drenched in a few seconds. I liked the thick sheet of water—it made a wall between me and the rest of the world. It closed me in, let me be alone.

I ran due east, over and through the mountains without breaking my straight course, until I could see a hazy hint of Seattle lights on the other side of the sound. I stopped before I touched the borders of human civilization.

Shut in by the rain, all alone, I finally made myself look at what I had done—at the way I had mutilated the future.

First, the vision of Alice and the boy with their arms around each other, walking together in the forest near the high school—the trust and friendship was so obvious it sang out from the image. Beau’s wide jade eyes were not confused in this vision, but still full of secrets—in this moment, they seemed to be happy secrets. He did not flinch away from Alice’s cold arm.

What did it mean? How much did he know? In that still-life moment from the future, what did he think of me?

Then the other image, so much the same, yet now colored by horror. Alice and Beau on the front porch of my house, their arms still wrapped around each other in trusting friendship. But now there was no difference between those arms—both were white, smooth as marble, hard as steel. Beau’s eyes were no longer the color of jade pearls. The irises were a shocking, vivid crimson. The secrets in them were unfathomable—acceptance or desolation? It was impossible to tell. His face was cold and immortal.

I shuddered. I could not suppress the questions, similar, but different: What did it mean—how had this come about? And what did he think of me now?

I could answer that last one. If I forced him into this empty half life through my weakness and selfishness, surely he would hate me. 

But there was one even more horrifying image—worse than any I’d ever held inside my head.

My own eyes, deep crimson with human blood, the eyes of the monster. Beau’s broken body in my arms, ashy white, drained, lifeless. It was so concrete, so clear.

I couldn’t stand to see this. Could not bear it. I tried to banish it from my mind, tried to see something, anything else. Tried to see again the expression on his living face that had obstructed my view for the last chapter of my existence. All to no avail.

Alice’s bleak vision filled my head, and I writhed internally with the agony it caused. Meanwhile, the monster in me was overflowing with glee, jubilant at the likelihood of his success. It sickened me.

This could not be allowed. There had to be a way to circumvent the future. I would not let Alice’s visions direct me. I could choose a different path.

There was always a choice.

There had to be.


	8. Invitations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this is, I think, a little shorter than usual. I had a harder time with Beau's side, and I'm not really entirely sure why. 
> 
> As a way to greet the new year, Edward's side will also be posted today. 
> 
> These have been chapters I've been super excited to get out since the beginning. These were my favorite chapters to write so far, and I liked that I got to completely remove the Edward sneaking into Beau's room while he's sleeping bit and put something a hell of a lot better. 
> 
> It might be a little while before I update again, because I have to crank out some chapters before I start posing more, but my goal is to reach chapters 8/9 of twilight and midnight sun within the next couple of weeks, and then I'll post some more. Let's hope I can actually do it. 
> 
> Oh, and please, let me know if there are any errors in this, or the next chapter. I don't think I caught everything, even after going through multiple times.

The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first, embarrassing.

To my dismay, I found myself the center of attention for the rest of that week. Tyler Crowley was impossible, following me around, obsessed with making amends to me somehow. I tried to convince him what I wanted more than anything else was for him to forget all about it — especially since nothing had actually happened to me — but he remained insistent. He followed me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. Mike and Eric were even less friendly toward him than they were to each other, which made me worry that I'd gained another unwelcome fan.

No one seemed concerned about Edward, though I explained over and over that he was the hero — how he had pulled me out of the way and had nearly been crushed, too. I tried to be convincing. Jessica, Mike, Eric, and everyone else always commented that they hadn't even seen him there till the van was pulled away.

I wondered to myself why no one else had seen him standing so far away, before he was suddenly, impossibly saving my life. With chagrin, I realized the probable cause — no one else was as aware of Edward as I always was. No one else watched him the way I did. How pitiful.

Edward was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for his firsthand account. People avoided him as usual. The Cullens and the Hales sat at the same table as always, not eating, talking only among themselves. None of them, especially Edward, glanced my way anymore. And I hated how much that bothered me. It had no right to bother me as much as it did. I couldn’t help the venomous lack of satisfaction that bubbled up in me. 

When he sat next to me in class, as far from me as the table would allow, he seemed totally unaware of my presence. Only now and then, when his fists would suddenly ball up — skin stretched even whiter over the bones — did I notice he wasn't quite as oblivious as he appeared.

He wished he hadn't pulled me from the path of Tyler 's van — there was no other conclusion I could come to. He had to know I wasn’t human anymore, and he had evidently grown to hate what I was. 

I wanted very much to talk to him, and the day after the accident I tried. The last time I'd seen him, outside the ER, we'd both been so furious. I still was angry that he wouldn't trust me with the truth, even though I was keeping my part of the bargain flawlessly. But he had in fact saved my life, no matter how he'd done it. And, overnight, the heat of my anger faded into awed gratitude. I ignored the part of myself that reared its head, wishing for me than just a conversation.

He was already seated when I got to Biology, looking straight ahead. I sat down, expecting him to turn toward me. He showed no sign that he realized I was there.

"Hello, Edward," I said pleasantly, to show him I was going to behave myself.

He turned his head a fraction toward me without meeting my gaze, nodded once, and then looked the other way.

And that was the last contact I'd had with him, though he was there, a foot away from me, every day. I watched him sometimes, unable to stop myself— from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I watched as his golden eyes grew perceptibly darker day by day. But in class I gave no more notice that he existed than he showed toward me. I was miserable. And the dreams continued.

Despite my outright lies, my emails alerted Renée to my depression, and she called a few times, worried. I tried to convince her it was just the weather that had me down.

Mike, at least, was pleased by the obvious coolness between me and my lab partner. I could see he'd been worried that Edward's daring rescue might have impressed me, and he was relieved that it seemed to have the opposite effect. He grew more confident, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before Biology class started, ignoring Edward as completely as he ignored us.

The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Mike was disappointed he'd never gotten to stage his snowball fight, but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed.

Jessica made me aware of another event looming on the horizon — she called the first Tuesday of March to ask my permission to invite Mike to the girls' choice spring dance in two weeks.

"Are you sure you don't mind… you weren't planning to ask him?" she persisted when I told her I didn't mind in the least.

"No, Jess, I'm not going. It’s girl’s choice anyway, right?," I assured her. Dancing was glaringly outside my range of abilities. Besides, it was rather irritating she was making an assumption about my sexuality. It was a fairly accurate assumption, but that did little to quell the frustration.

"It will be really fun." Her attempt to convince me was halfhearted. I suspected that Jessica enjoyed my inexplicable popularity more than my actual company.  _ Maybe I should feed on her now, just so I don’t have to deal with her haughty behavior anymore. _

"You have fun with Mike," I encouraged.

The next day, I was surprised that Jessica wasn't her usual gushing self in Trig and Spanish. She was silent as she walked by my side between classes, and I was afraid to ask her why. If Mike had turned her down, I was the last person she would want to tell.

My fears were strengthened during lunch when Jessica sat as far from Mike as possible, chatting animatedly with Eric. Mike was unusually quiet.

Mike was still quiet as he walked me to class, the uncomfortable look on his face a bad sign. But he didn't broach the subject until I was in my seat and he was perched on my desk. As always, I was electrically aware of Edward sitting close enough to touch, as distant as if he were merely an invention of my imagination. My imagination had been a horrible thing to dwell on, even for a second

"So," Mike said, looking at the floor, "Jessica asked me to the spring dance."

"That's great." I made my voice bright and enthusiastic. "You'll have a lot of fun with Jessica."

"Well…" He floundered as he examined my smile, clearly not happy with my response. This was more of problem than I had previously thought

"I told her I had to think about it."

"Why would you do that?" I let disapproval color my tone, though I was relieved he hadn't given her an absolute no.

His face was bright red as he looked down again. Pity shook my resolve.

"I was wondering if… well, if you might be planning to ask me, or like, maybe we could go stag or something."

I paused for a moment, hating the wave of guilt that swept through me. But I saw, from the corner of my eye, Edward's head tilt reflexively in my direction.

"Mike, I think you should tell her yes," I said.

"Did you already ask someone?" Did Edward notice how Mike's eyes flickered in his direction?

"No, I’m not a girl," I stated. "Besides, I'm not going to the dance at all."

"Why not?" Mike demanded.  _ If I can’t see him at all, maybe I don’t want to go either. Maybe, I’ll hang out with him. We could always go for a drive... _

I didn't want to get into the safety hazards that dancing presented, and I did not want to even bother with rejecting his hang out drive proposal, so I quickly made new plans.

"I'm going to visit my mom that Saturday," I explained. I needed to get out of town anyway — it was suddenly the perfect time to go. I could figure out where later.

"Can't you go some other weekend?"

"Sorry, no. You can’t get a refund for a plane ticket," I retorted. "So you shouldn't make Jess wait any longer — it's rude." He was really getting on my nerves. 

"Yeah, you're right," he mumbled, and turned, dejected, to walk back to his seat. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to push the guilt and sympathy out of my head. Mr. Banner began talking. I sighed and opened my eyes.

Edward was staring at me curiously, that same, familiar edge of frustration even more distinct now in his black eyes.

I stared back, surprised, expecting him to look quickly away. But instead he continued to gaze with probing intensity into my eyes. There was no question of me looking away.

My hands started to shake. _ Don’t think about the dreams, don’t think about the dreams... _

"Mr. Cullen?" the teacher called, seeking the answer to a question that I hadn't heard.

"The Krebs Cycle," Edward answered, seeming reluctant as he turned to look at Mr. Banner.

I looked down at my book as soon as his eyes released me, trying to find my place.

Cowardly as ever, I shifted my hair over my right shoulder to hide my face. The first time in months I had worn my hair down, and I was using it to hide, like always. I couldn't believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me — just because he'd happened to look at me for the first time in a half-dozen weeks. I couldn't allow him to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.

I tried very hard not to be aware of him for the rest of the hour, and, since that was impossible, at least not to let him know that I was aware of him. When the bell rang at last, I turned my back to him to gather my things, expecting him to leave immediately as usual.

"Beau?" His voice shouldn't have been so familiar to me, as if I'd known the sound of it all my life rather than for just a few short weeks.

I turned slowly, unwillingly. I didn't want to feel what I knew I would feel when I looked at his too-perfect face. My expression was wary when I finally turned to him; his expression was unreadable. He didn't say anything.

"What? Are you speaking to me again?" I finally asked, an unintentional note of petulance in my voice. My guts twisted together and clenched, pain blooming. 

His lips twitched, fighting a smile. "No, not really," he admitted.

I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly through my nose, aware that I was gritting my teeth. He waited.

"Then what do you want, Edward?" I asked, keeping my eyes closed; it was easier to talk to him coherently that way.

"I'm sorry." He sounded sincere. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."

I opened my eyes. His face was very serious.

"I don't know what you mean," I said, my voice guarded.

"It's better if we're not friends," he explained. "Trust me."

My eyes narrowed. I'd heard that before.

"It's too bad you didn't figure that out earlier," I hissed through my teeth. "You could have saved yourself all this regret."

"Regret?” The word, and my tone, obviously caught him off guard. "Regret for what?"

"For not just letting that stupid van squish me." I snapped.

He was astonished. He stared at me in disbelief.

When he finally spoke, he almost sounded mad. "You think I regret saving your life?"

"I know you do. Why else would you be acting like this?" I snapped. It wasn’t fair that I had acted that way, but I was angry, and I wanted to make him just as angry as I was.

"You don't know anything." He was definitely mad. 

I turned my head sharply away from him, clenching my jaw against all the wild accusations I wanted to hurl at him. I didn’t know anything? Was he serious?

I gathered my books together, then stood and walked to the door. I meant to sweep dramatically out of the room, but of course I caught the toe of my boot on the door jamb and dropped my books. I stood there for a moment, thinking about leaving them. It would save me a lot of trouble, and probably lead to him bringing me my books later. Not that I wanted that. No, I definitely didn't want that.

I sighed and bent to pick them up. He was there; he'd already stacked them into a pile. He handed them to me, his face hard.

"Thank you," I said icily.

His eyes narrowed.

"You're welcome," he retorted.

I straightened up swiftly, turned away from him again, and stalked off to Gym without looking back.

Gym was brutal. We'd moved on to basketball. My team never passed me the ball, so that was good, but I fell down a lot. Sometimes I took people with me. Today I was worse than usual because my head was so filled with Edward. I tried to concentrate on my feet, but he kept creeping back into my thoughts just when I really needed my balance.

It was a relief, as always, to leave. I almost ran to the truck; there were just so many people I wanted to avoid. The truck had suffered only minimal damage in the accident. I'd had to replace the taillights, and if I'd had a real paint job, I would have touched that up.

Tyler 's parents had to sell their van for parts.

I almost had a stroke when I rounded the corner and saw a tall, dark figure leaning against the side of my truck. Then I realized it was just Eric. I started walking again.

"Hey, Eric," I called.

"Hi, Beau."

"What's up?" I said as I was unlocking the door. I wasn't paying attention to the uncomfortable edge in his voice, so his next words took me by surprise.

"Uh, I was just wondering… if you would go to the spring dance with me? " His voice broke on the last word.

"I thought it was girls' choice," I said, too startled to be diplomatic.

"Well, yeah," he admitted, shamefaced.

“Well, I don’t know if you missed the obvious, but I’m not a girl.”  _ You’re cute enough to look like one. _

“Well… yeah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. 

I recovered my composure and tried to make my smile warm. "Thank you for asking me, but I'm going to be out of town that day."

"Oh," he said. "Well, maybe next time."

"Sure," I agreed, and then bit my lip. I wouldn't want him to take that too literally.

He slouched off, back toward the school. I heard a low chuckle.

Edward was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, his lips pressed together. I yanked the door open and jumped inside, slamming it loudly behind me. I revved the engine deafeningly and reversed out into the aisle. Edward was in his car already, two spaces down, sliding out smoothly in front of me, cutting me off. He stopped there — to wait for his family; I could see the four of them walking this way, but still by the cafeteria. I considered taking out the rear of his shiny Volvo, but there were too many witnesses. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form. Directly behind me, Tyler Crowley was in his recently acquired used Sentra, waving. I was too aggravated to acknowledge him.

While I was sitting there, looking everywhere but at the car in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. I looked over; it was Tyler. I glanced back in my rearview mirror, confused. His car was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway down, then gave up.

"I'm sorry, Tyler, I'm stuck behind Cullen." I was annoyed — obviously the holdup wasn't my fault.

"Oh, I know — I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." He grinned.

This could not be happening. What was wrong with everyone? On, second thought, I didn’t need to ask that at all. 

"Will you ask me to the spring dance?" he continued.

"I'm not going to be in town, Tyler. And I’m also not a girl." My voice sounded a little sharp. I had to remember it wasn't his fault that Mike and Eric had already used up my quota of patience for the day. Or that he was even attracted to me at all. 

"Yeah, Mike said that," he admitted.

"Then why —"

He shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting him down easy."

Okay, it was completely his fault.

"Sorry, Tyler," I said, working to hide my irritation. "I really am going out of town."

"That's cool. We still have prom."

Before I could respond, he was walking back to his car. I could feel the shock on my face. I looked forward to see Alice, Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper all sliding into the Volvo. In his rearview mirror, Edward's eyes were on me. He was unquestionably shaking with laughter, as if he'd heard every word Tyler had said. My foot itched toward the gas pedal… one little bump wouldn't hurt any of them, just that glossy silver paint job. I revved the engine.

But they were all in, and Edward was speeding away. I drove home slowly, carefully, muttering to myself the whole way.

When I got home, I decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. It was a long process, and it would keep me busy. While I was simmering the onions and chilies, the phone rang. I was almost afraid to answer it, but it might be Charlie or my mom.

It was Jessica, and she was jubilant; Mike had caught her after school to accept her invitation. I celebrated with her briefly while I stirred. She had to go, she wanted to call Angela and Lauren to tell them. I suggested — with casual innocence — that maybe Angela, the shy girl who had Biology with me, could ask Eric. And Lauren, a standoffish girl who had always ignored me at the lunch table, could ask Tyler; I'd heard he was still available. Jess thought that was a great idea. Now that she was sure of Mike, she actually sounded sincere when she said she wished I would go to the dance. I gave her my out of town excuse.

After I hung up, I tried to concentrate on dinner — dicing the chicken especially; I didn't want to take another trip to the emergency room. But my head was spinning, trying to analyze every word Edward had spoken today. What did he mean, it was better if we weren't friends?

My stomach twisted as I realized what he must have meant. He must see how absorbed I was by him; he must not want to lead me on… so we couldn't even be friends…because he wasn't interested in me at all.

Of course he wasn't interested in me, I thought angrily, my eyes stinging — a delayed reaction to the onions. I wasn't human. I was a monster. I wasn’t interesting. He was interesting… and brilliant… and mysterious… and perfect… and beautiful… and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand.

Well, that was fine. I could leave him alone. I would leave him alone, because it was what was best for everyone. I couldn’t afford to be interested in Edward Cullen. I would get through my time here until he was gone, and then I could hopefully move somewhere in the Southwest, or possibly Hawaii. I focused my thoughts on sunny beaches and palm trees as I finished the enchiladas and put them in the oven.

Charlie seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled the green peppers. I couldn't blame him — the closest edible Mexican food was probably in southern California. But he was a cop, even if just a small-town cop, so he was brave enough to take the first bite. He seemed to like it. It was fun to watch as he slowly began trusting me in the kitchen.

"Dad?" I asked when he was almost done.

"Yeah, Beau?"

"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Seattle for the day a week from Saturday… if that's okay?" I didn't want to ask permission — but I felt rude, so I tacked it on at the end.

"Why?" He sounded surprised, as if he were unable to imagine something that Forks couldn't offer.

"Well, I wanted to get a few books — the library here is pretty limited — and maybe look at some clothes." I had more money than I was used to having, since, thanks to Charlie, I hadn't had to pay for a car. Not that the truck didn't cost me quite a bit in the gas department.

"That truck probably doesn't get very good gas mileage," he said, echoing my thoughts.

"I know, I'll stop in Montesano and Olympia — and Tacoma if I have to."

"Are you going all by yourself?" he asked, and I couldn't tell if he was suspicious I had secret prey or just worried about car trouble.

"Yes."

"Seattle is a big city — you could get lost," he fretted.

"Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle — and I can read a map, don't worry about it."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

I tried to be crafty as I hid my horror. How many more centuries would I have to have him worry about me being alone?

"That's all right, Dad, I'll probably just be in dressing rooms all day — very boring."

"Oh, okay." The thought of sitting in clothing stores for any period of time immediately put him off.

"Thanks." I smiled at him.

"Will you be back in time for the dance?"

Grrr. Only in a town this small would a father know when the high school dances were.

"No — I don't dance, Dad." He, of all people, should understand that — I didn't get my balance problems from my mother.

He did understand. "Oh, that's right," he realized.

“Make sure you keep up with feeding then. We don’t need a repeat of the other day.” He finished his food, placing his plate in the sink before he opened the fridge and pulled out the blood. 

I accepted the large cup he handed me, and happily drank it. 

“I’ll be sure to do that.” We both went to our separate rooms once I had finished my own meal, but I couldn’t sleep. I was too wound up from the energy I had consumed that I doubted sleep was possible. 

I conceded, and made my way downstairs and onto the couch. I turned the tv onto some random show, hoping to bore myself into oblivion. I began to have a conversation with myself, hoping my own voice would lull me to sleep.

“You’re being an idiot. Nothing good will come from this.”  _ Gee, thanks. Such a confidence boost.  _ Another voice joined the party. 

“What’s got you all worked up this time, sweetheart?” I don’t bother to look at him. I already knew he would come if I started talking. 

“Some… boy. You’d think I wouldn’t be so worked up over some stupid boy after all this time.” A sharp, breathy laugh cut through the silence. 

“ _ A boy _ ? Who would think the Incubus named Beau Swan would be so distracted by something so trivial? Who? What’s he like? I need all the details.” Cain had always been an interesting man. My first love and my first victim. Not that he held it against me. He viewed death as a great way to always be with me in a way he could never be in life. 

“Edward Cullen. Tall, handsome. He’s basically a god.” I wished I had popped some popcorn now. I got up from the couch to do just that. Cain followed. 

“Just your type. Anything else?” Cain crossed his arms as a smirk spread across his lips. 

“He’s… absolutely perfect. And I’m sure he’s not—”

“Human? Yeah, I doubt that too.” I frowned as the microwave beeped.

“Why do you say that? You haven’t even seen him.” I pulled the bag from the microwave, opening it and beginning to head back to the living room. 

“I mean... he’s here. Unless that's some other random guy standing outside your house, but I doubt it.” I stopped where I was standing. 

_ Edward’s here? _ I tried to ignore the giddiness I felt at that thought. Did he think he couldn’t come to my door? Was he shy? 

I looked at Cain. He laughed. “He’s over here kind of hidden by the wall next to the porch and the kitchen. He’s been listening.” 

I placed my bag of popcorn on the counter, carefully wrapping the blanket around me as I exited the house. I went to the far side of the porch and leaned against the railing. I couldn’t help the small smirk that crept to my lips.

“You can come out now. I know you’re there.” I had to hold back a laugh as I heard him whisper  _ shit _ under his breath. 

He stepped out from his hiding spot. Even caught unawares, he had still looked absolutely gorgeous. 

“Couldn’t help but stalk me? You know you could’ve just come to the door, right?” Human rules don’t apply to non-humans, but I still wanted to make him feel bad. 

He walked closer to me, closing the distance as soon as he could tell I wasn’t completely bothered by his behaviors. “I’m… sorry about that. I got... worried about you…” he said. 

“And what had Edward Cullen so worried about my safety that he came to my house in the middle of the night, hm?” I knew I was being catty and pushy, but somehow that was the only way I could get him to talk. 

“Meteorites smashing you in your sleep.” I laughed. 

“Meteorites? And what were you going to do about that? Save me?” He nodded. I was flabbergasted. What was he thinking? 

“I was going to catch it before it could get to you.” Was I compelling him to answer? Or was he voluntarily choosing to be honest? Somehow, the specifics didn’t matter, as long as he kept giving me actual answers.

A smile formed on my lips. How could I deny how sweet of a gesture that was? A little creepy, but we’re also not human, so I could forgive it. 

“That's awfully thoughtful of you.” There was an edge to my voice I couldn’t quite place. Was I flirting? It had been ages since I had flirted. Was it working? Was he interested in me? I attempted to pull his thoughts, but it failed. Something was different about Edward Cullen. 

“Is it? I was just telling myself it was rather unsettling that I was here. That I’m no better than a peeping tom.” Edward came to a stop right in front of me. It was then that I realized just how tall he actually was. Even with me standing on my porch, he was still practically eye level with me. Granted, it was a low porch and I was leaning forward, but still. The height difference was jarring and… oddly attractive. 

His hands wrapped around the metal bars on the porch as his gaze stayed locked on mine. 

“Well… for what it's worth I think it’s only a little creepy.” I couldn’t help the smile that seemed permanently plastered to my face. He came here to make sure I was safe! How odd. 

“How do I make it perfectly normal then?” His voice was suddenly low and husky. The words themselves were quiet, barely above a whisper. 

That was the last thing I had expected to hear. He wanted to make this a more normal thing? Was he saying he wanted to come back? Was he genuinely whispering seductively while looking me in the eyes? Or did he do it because I was making him do it? 

“Well, you could always make me aware you want to stop by for a late night visit.” My voice mirrored his, breathy, whispered, and utterly seductive. He was far too attractive for me to ignore the way my body was reacting. Especially when he was so close. 

“How do I do that? Throw rocks at your window?” He chuckled. I laughed. I tried to ignore Cain who howled with laughter behind me. 

“That would be something I would pay to see.” I held out my hand. “Give me your phone.” He pulled the phone from his pocket, dropping it into my hand without touching me. I open the phone, finding the contacts and entering my cell phone number. He was the only one at school to have it. 

“Now you have my number. Message me when you feel the urge to check on me.” I hummed quietly as he put the phone back in his pocket. 

“How am I supposed to check on you?” He squeezed the metal bars of the railing. 

“There’s a tree by my window. You can climb it and knock unless I tell you I’m not in there.” I shrugged and continued to smile. “I’ll let you in.” 

“You really shouldn’t.” 

“Why’s that?” Did he really not like me? Why would he be here if he didn’t like me?

“It really is better if you don’t trust me.” 

“Why? Are you a serial killer?” He laughed again; the sound was boisterous and warm. 

“No, no. Nothing like that.” He moved closer again. 

“So when can I expect you to go on a rampage?” He smiled, and it was a beautiful thing I didn’t know I needed. 

“Anytime. I’m like a bomb that’s ready to go off at any moment.” He really views himself that way? What was he if he had this view of himself? How horrible of a reputation did his kind have if he thought he really truly couldn’t be trusted?

I did it without thinking. I just wanted to offer any sort of comfort I could. 

I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his. The same electric shock I got every other time he had touched me surged through my body from my head to my toes. I had forgotten how much pain I actually was in until we were kissing. I used one hand to grip the railing and the other to grip his shirt. 

His lips were ice cold, just like his hands had been in Biology. Even through a shirt, I could feel the cold, hard press of his clearly heavily muscled chest against my knuckles. I assumed he must be this same temperature throughout his entire body. I tried not to think too hard about that part. Thinking that far would have just made things escalate too far. 

He seemed surprised at first, and I almost thought he was going to pull away and run. Instead, he kept himself planted, and his hands firmly around the metal bars of the railing. I wished he would have touched me. 

We pulled away, and I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” Edward cut me off. 

“Don’t be sorry. I don’t mind at all.” Did he actually enjoy kissing me? Or had he hated it?

And then, he was climbing up onto the porch. He had so gracefully swung his legs over the railing, I had no time to completely gather my scattered thoughts. I stared at his chest. He was so much taller than I had previously realized. Or maybe, it was just the fact that I was so short. What if he didn’t like short people? Would he leave and never talk to me again?

“Would you mind if I kissed you this time?” He cupped my cheek and turned my face up to look at his. Dark eyes stared back at me and my gut twisted and coiled again. He wanted to initiate this time. Not only that, he had expressly asked me for permission to do such a thing. No one had really ever done something like that for me. Not for something as small as a kiss. 

“I wouldn’t mind at all.” The words had been so quiet, I had worried he hadn’t heard me speak. Just before I could answer him more clearly and confidently, his lips were on mine again. 

His lips were colder now, and it took me a second to process that that was because my own temperature was rising. I stood on my tip toes, alleviating some of the height difference and deepening the kiss. I dropped the blanket, letting it puddle around mine and Edward’s feet. 

My arms moved of their own accord, wrapping around his neck and pulling him in more and pulling myself up. He placed his hands on my hips. And I enjoyed how cold his hands felt. I enjoyed it even more once he slid his hands the slightest bit up my shirt, finally touching bare skin. It felt like the best thing in the world, like the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Fingers stroked and danced along my bare hip bones, and I tangled my fingers into his bronze locks, tugging as he squeezed my hips. The kiss was gradually building in intensity, and then we were switching places, and my back was forced into the metal railing. 

I’m sure it looked simultaneously passionate and like he was extremely rough and hurting me. He had me bent backwards over the railing, his body over mine as our kiss became steadily sloppy and more passionate. I began to nibble on his bottom lip, finding the flesh surprisingly pliable and plump. 

His hands moved to my ass before he lifted me onto the railing and forced his way between my legs. He was much closer now, in a variety of ways, and somehow he wasn’t close enough. He rolled his hips into me, and I found that, in fact, he was most certainly enjoying this. My own cock was swelling, and I found the temperature difference more erotic at that moment than I ever had prior. 

I was now precariously balanced on a thin metal bar, and in order to stay upright, I was forced to wrap my legs around the man between my legs. I gripped his shirt as an added measure. Every action now was muddled by my own brain's inability to keep up. Heat pooled between my legs as he thrust against me, hard and rough, 

His movements were hesitant and methodical. Like he knew what he was doing but had very little experience. His hands inched up my thighs, feather light sending shivers up my spine. 

Then he pulled away. 

“I should go.” His voice was strained. I could tell he was speaking through clenched teeth. 

“Okay.” He removed my legs from around him, and every touch was still sending electric sparks through me. He helped me down from the railing and had my blanket in his hands. 

“I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow, Beau.” I bit my lip. He ever so gently wrapped me up in my blanket. 

“Okay.” I didn’t know if I entirely believed him. He had a habit of disappearing when I expected him to be there. 

I watched him leave, walking down the street causally before disappearing around a corner. 

I didn’t sleep. 

In the morning, when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. I didn't want to put myself in the path of too much temptation. Last night was bad enough, despite how enjoyable it was. Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, a white hand flashed out and grabbed it before I could. I jerked upright. Edward Cullen was right next to me, leaning casually against my truck.

"How do you do that?" I asked in amazement.

"Do what?" He held my key out as he spoke. As I reached for it, he dropped it into my palm.

"Appear out of thin air."

"Beau, it's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant." His voice was quiet as usual — velvet, muted. Nothing in his tone hinted at our exchange from the previous night. 

I scowled at his perfect face. His eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. Actually, now that I thought about it, he had golden flecks in his eyes last night, too. I was definitely unobservant. 

“I’m not that unobservant,” I mumbled defensively. I had to look down, to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts.  _ I guess we are ignoring last night. _

"Why the traffic jam last night?" I demanded, still looking away. A quick change of topic would get him talking for sure. And it was a great way to vent my anger without saying something stupid. "I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist, not irritating me to death."

"That was for Tyler 's sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance." He snickered.

"You…" I gasped. I couldn't think of a bad enough word. It felt like the heat of my anger should physically burn him, but he only seemed more amused.

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," he continued.

"So you are trying to irritate me to death? Since Tyler 's van didn't do the job?"

Anger flashed in his tawny eyes. His lips pressed into a hard line, all signs of humor gone.

"Beau, you are utterly absurd," he said, his low voice cold.

My palms tingled — I wanted so badly to hit something. I was absurd? He was the one who showed up to my house last night! I turned my back and started to walk away.

"Wait," he called. I kept walking, sloshing angrily through the rain. But he was next to me, easily keeping pace.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," he said as we walked. I tried to ignore him. "I'm not saying it isn't true," he continued, "but it was rude to say it, anyway."

"Why won't you leave me alone?" I grumbled.

"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me," he chuckled. He seemed to have recovered his good humor.

"Do you have a multiple personality disorder?" I asked severely.

"You're doing it again."

I sighed." Fine then. What do you want to ask?"

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday — you know, the day of the spring dance —"

"Are you trying to be funny ?" I interrupted him, wheeling toward him. My face got drenched as I looked up at his expression.

His eyes were wickedly amused. "Will you please allow me to finish?"

I bit my lip and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, so I couldn't do anything rash.

"I heard you say you were going to be out of town that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride."

That was... unexpected.

"What?" I wasn't sure what he was getting at.

"Do you want a ride to wherever you plan on going?"

"With who?" I asked, mystified.

"Myself, obviously." He enunciated every syllable, as if he were talking to someone mentally handicapped.

I was still stunned. " Why?"

"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it very far."

"My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern. Besides, if you listened, you'd know I’ll be visiting my mom." 

I started to walk again, but I was too surprised to maintain the same level of anger. Last night wasn’t being forgotten. 

"I know it was a lie. Did you really expect anyone outside of the Three Stooges to not know you were lying so they'd leave you alone?" I stared back in shock. The first major shocker was that he was joking. The second was that he very accurately predicted my lie. Hard to read, my ass. 

He laughed, sudden and completely ravaged by a fit of giggles. He was lucky I liked him just a little bit. He composed himself and began to speak again. 

"And to ask you another question: can your truck make it to Seattle on one tank of gas?" He matched my pace again.

"I don't see how that is any of your business." Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."

"Honestly, Edward." I felt a thrill go through me as I said his name, and I hated it. "I can't keep up with you. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Oh, thanks, now that's all cleared up." Heavy sarcasm. I had stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof now, so I could more easily look at his face. Which certainly didn't help my clarity of thought.

"It would be more… prudent for you not to be my friend," he explained. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau."

His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence, his voice smoldering. I couldn't remember how to breathe.

"Will you go with me to Seattle ?" he asked, still intense.

I couldn't speak yet, so I bit my lip. Was I really going to do this? Go be alone and out of town with Edward? 

“Sure. Why not?” 

He smiled briefly, and then his face became serious.

"You really should stay away from me," he warned. "I'll see you in class."

He turned abruptly and walked back the way we'd come.


	9. Invitations (Edward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, immediately back to back. I'm on a roll!
> 
> Ok, so this one is loooong. When I say long, I mean long. I honestly really enjoy writing for Edward. 
> 
> Hope you guys really enjoy this one.

High school. Purgatory no longer, it was now purely hell. Torment and fire… yes, I had both.

I was doing everything correctly now. Every i dotted, every t crossed. No one could complain that I was shirking my responsibilities.

To please Esme and protect the others, I stayed in Forks. I returned to my old schedule. I hunted no more than the rest of them. Every day, I attended high school and played human. Every day, I listened carefully for anything new about the Cullens—there was never anything new. The boy did not speak one word of his suspicions. He just repeated the same story—I’d been standing with him and then pulled him out of the way—till his eager listeners got bored and stopped looking for more details. There was no danger. My hasty action had hurt no one.

No one but myself.

I was determined to change the future. Not the easiest task to set for oneself, but there was no other choice I could live with.

Alice said that I would not be strong enough to stay away from the boy. I would prove her wrong.

I’d thought the first day would be the hardest. By the end of it, I’d been sure that was the case. I’d been wrong, though.

It had rankled, knowing that I would hurt the boy. I’d comforted myself with the fact that his pain would be nothing more than a pinprick—just a tiny sting of rejection—compared to mine. Beau was human, and he knew that I was something else, something wrong, something frightening. He would probably be more relieved than wounded when I turned my face away from him and pretended that he didn’t exist.

“Hello, Edward,” he’d greeted me that first day back in Biology. His voice had been pleasant, friendly, one hundred eighty degrees from the last time I’d spoken with him.

Why? What did the change mean? Had he forgotten? Decided he had imagined the whole episode? Could he possibly have forgiven me for not following through on my promise?

The questions had stabbed and twisted like the thirst that attacked me every time I breathed.

Just one moment to look in his eyes. Just to see if I could read the answers there.…

No. I could not allow myself even that. Not if I was going to change the future.

I’d moved my chin an inch in his direction without looking away from the front of the room. I’d nodded once, then turned my face straight forward.

He did not speak to me again.

That afternoon, as soon as school was finished, my role played, I ran halfway to Seattle, as I had the day before. It seemed that I could handle the aching just slightly better when I was flying over the ground, turning everything around me into a green blur.

This run became my daily habit.

Did I love him? I did not think so. Not yet. Alice’s glimpses of that future had stayed with me, though, and I could see how easy it would be to fall into loving Beau. It would be exactly like falling: effortless. Not letting myself love him was the opposite of falling—it was pulling myself up a cliff face, hand over hand, the task as grueling as if I had no more than mortal strength.

More than a month passed, and every day it got harder. That made no sense to me—I kept waiting to get over it, to have the struggle become easier or at least level off. This must be what Alice had meant when she’d predicted that I would not be able to stay away from the boy. She had seen the escalation of the pain.

But I could handle pain.

I would not destroy Beau’s future. If I was destined to love him, then wasn’t avoiding him the very least I could do?

Avoiding him was about the limit of what I could bear, though. I could pretend to ignore him and never look his way. I could pretend that he was of no interest to me. But I still hung on every breath he took, every word he spoke.

I couldn’t watch him with my eyes, so I watched him through the eyes of others. The vast majority of my thoughts revolved around him as though he was the center of my mind’s gravity.

As this hell ground on, I lumped my torments into four categories.

The first two were familiar. His scent and his silence. Or rather—to take the responsibility on myself, where it belonged—my thirst and my curiosity.

The thirst was the most primal of my torments. It was my habit now to simply not breathe at all in Biology. Of course, there were always the exceptions—when I had to answer a question, and I would need my breath to speak. Each time I tasted the air around the boy, it was the same as the first day—fire and need and brutal violence desperate to break free. It was hard to cling even slightly to reason or restraint in those moments. And, just like that first day, the monster in me would roar, so close to the surface.

The curiosity was the most constant of my torments. The question was never out of my mind: What is he thinking now? When I heard his quiet sigh. When he twisted a lock of hair absently around his finger. When he threw his books down with more force than usual. When he rushed into class late. When he tapped his foot impatiently against the floor. Each movement caught in my peripheral vision was a maddening mystery. When he spoke to the other human students, I analyzed his every word and tone. Was he speaking his thoughts, or what he thought he should say? It often sounded to me as though he was trying to say what his audience expected, and this reminded me of my family and our daily life of illusion—we were better at it than he was. But why would he have to play a role? He was one of them—a human teenager.

Only… he occasionally didn’t behave like one. For example, when Mr. Banner assigned a group project in Biology. It was his practice to let the students choose their partners. As always happened with group projects, the bravest of the ambitious students—Beth Daws and Nicholas Laghari—quickly asked if I would join them. I shrugged my acceptance. They knew I would complete my portion perfectly, and theirs, too, if they left it undone.

It was unsurprising that Mike allied himself with Beau. What was unexpected was Beau’s insistence on the third member of their group, Tara Galvaz.

Mr. Banner usually had to assign Tara to a group. She looked more surprised than pleased when Beau tapped her on the shoulder and awkwardly asked if she wanted to work with him and Mike.

“Whatever,” Tara responded.

When he was back at his seat, Mike hissed at him, “She’s a total stoner. She won’t do any work. I think she’s failing Biology.”

Beau shook his head and whispered back, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch whatever she misses.”

Mike wasn’t appeased. “Why did you do that?”

It was the same question I was dying to ask him, though not in the same tone.

Tara was, in fact, failing Biology. Mr. Banner was thinking about her now, both surprised and touched by Beau’s choice.

_No one ever gives that kid a chance. Nice of Beau—he’s kinder than most of these cannibals._

Had Beau noticed how Tara was usually ostracized by the rest of the class? I could imagine no reason besides kindness for reaching out to her, especially with Beau’s shyness in the way. I wondered how much discomfort it had caused him and decided it was probably more than any other human here would have been willing to go through for a stranger.

Given Beau’s grasp of Biology, I wondered if the grade from this project would even save Tara from failure, in this class at least. And that was exactly what happened.

Then there was the time at lunch when Jessica and Lauren were talking about the number-one dream destinations on their bucket lists. Jessica chose Jamaica, only to feel immediately one-upped when Lauren countered with the French Riviera. Tyler chimed in with Amsterdam, thinking of the famous red-light district, and the others began sounding off. I waited anxiously for Beau’s answer to the question, but before Mike (who liked the idea of Rio) could ask for his take, Eric enthusiastically named Comic Con, and the table erupted in laughter.

“What a dork,” Lauren hissed.

Jessica snickered. “I know, right?”

Tyler rolled his eyes.

“You’re never going to get a girlfriend,” Mike told Eric.

Beau’s voice, louder than his usual timid volume, cut into the melee.

“No, that’s cool,” Beau insisted. “That’s where I’d want to go, too.”

Mike was immediately backpedaling. “I mean, I guess some of the costumes are cool. Slave Leia.” _Should have kept my mouth shut._

Jessica and Lauren exchanged a glance, frowning.

_Ugh, please,_ Lauren thought.

“We should totally go,” Eric enthused at Beau. “I mean, after we save up enough.” _Comic Con with Beau! Even better than Comic Con alone…_

Beau was thrown for a second, but after a quick glance at Lauren’s expression, he doubled down. “Yeah, I wish. It’s probably way too expensive though, right?”

Eric started breaking down ticket prices and hotels versus sleeping in a car. Jessica and Lauren returned to their earlier conversation while Mike listened unhappily to Eric and Beau.

“Do you think it’s a two-day drive or three?” Eric was asking.

“No idea,” Beau said.

“Well, how long a drive is it from here to Phoenix?”

“You can do it in two days,” he said with confidence. “If you’re willing to drive fifteen hours a day.”

“San Diego should be a little closer than that, right?”

I seemed to be the only one who noticed the light bulb going on over Beau’s head.

“Oh yeah, San Diego definitely is closer. Still two days for sure, though.”

It was clear he hadn’t even known the location of Comic Con. He’d only chimed in to save Eric from teasing, but he seemed to spark genuine interest. It was revealing of his character—I was always compiling my list—but now I would never know where he would have chosen for himself. Mike was nearly as dissatisfied, but he seemed oblivious to his real motivations.

It was often like this with him: never stepping out of his quiet comfort zone except for someone else’s perceived need; changing the subject whenever his circle of human friends grew too cruel to one another; thanking a teacher for their lesson if that teacher seemed down; giving up his locker for a more inconvenient location so two best friends could be neighbors; smiling a certain smile that never surfaced for his contented friends, only revealing itself to someone who was hurting. Little things that none of his acquaintances or admirers ever seemed to see.

Through all these little things, I was able to add the most important quality to my list, the most revealing of them all, as simple as it was rare. Beau was good. All the other things added up to that whole: Kind and self-effacing and unselfish and brave—he was good through and through. And no one seemed aware of that besides me. Though Mike was certainly observing him nearly as often.

And right there was the most surprising of my torments: Mike Newton. Who would have ever dreamed that such a generic, boring mortal could be so infuriating? To be fair, I should have felt some gratitude to him; more than the others, he kept the boy talking. I learned so much about him through these conversations, but Mike’s assistance with this project only aggravated me. I didn’t want him to be the one who unlocked his secrets.

It helped that he never noticed the small revelations, his little slips. He knew nothing about him. He’d created a Beau in his head who didn’t exist—a boy just as generic as he was. He hadn’t observed the unselfishness and bravery that set him apart from other humans, didn’t hear the abnormal maturity of his spoken thoughts. He didn’t perceive that when he spoke of his mother, he sounded like a parent speaking of a child rather than the other way around—loving, indulgent, slightly amused, and fiercely protective. He didn’t hear the patience in his voice when he feigned interest in his rambling stories, and didn’t guess at the compassion behind that patience.

These helpful discoveries did not warm me to the boy, however. The possessive way he viewed Beau—as if he were an acquisition to be made—provoked me almost as much as his crude fantasies about him. He was becoming more confident of him, too, as time passed, for he seemed to prefer him over those he considered his rivals—Tyler Crowley, Eric Yorkie, and even, sporadically, myself. He would routinely sit on his side of our table before Biology began, chattering at him, encouraged by his smiles. Just polite smiles, I told myself. All the same, I frequently amused myself by imagining backhanding him across the room and into the far wall. It probably wouldn’t injure him fatally.…

Mike didn’t often think of me as a rival. After the accident, he’d worried that Beau and I would bond from the shared experience, but obviously the opposite had resulted. Back then, he had still been bothered that I’d singled Beau out over his peers for attention. 

But now I ignored him just as thoroughly as the others, and he grew complacent.

What was he thinking now? Did he welcome his attention?

And finally, the last of my torments, the most painful: Beau’s indifference. As I ignored him, he ignored me. He never tried to speak to me again. For all I knew, he never thought about me at all.

This might have driven me mad—or worse, broken my resolution—except that he sometimes stared at me as he had before. I didn’t see it for myself, as I could not allow myself to look at him, but Alice always warned us; the others were still wary of the boy’s problematic knowledge.

It eased some of the pain that he gazed at me from a distance every now and then. Of course, he was probably just wondering exactly what kind of an aberration I was.

“Beau’s going to stare at Edward in a minute. Look normal,” Alice said one Tuesday in March, and the others were careful to fidget and shift their weight.

I paid attention to how often he looked in my direction. It pleased me, though it should not have, that the frequency did not decline as time passed. I didn’t know what it meant, but it made me feel better.

Alice sighed. _I wish…_

“Stay out of it, Alice,” I said under my breath. “It’s not going to happen.”

She pouted. Alice was anxious to form her envisioned friendship with Beau. In a strange way, she missed the boy she didn’t know.

_I’ll admit, you’re better than I thought. You’ve got the future all snarled up and senseless again. I hope you’re happy._

“It makes plenty of sense to me.”

She snorted delicately. 

I tried to shut her out, too impatient for conversation. I wasn’t in a very good mood—tenser than I let any of them see. Only Jasper was aware of how tightly wound I was, feeling the stress emanate out of me with his unique ability to both sense and influence the moods of others. He didn’t understand the reasons behind the moods, though, and—since I was constantly in a foul temper these days—he disregarded it.

Today would be a hard one. Harder than the day before, as was the pattern.

Mike Newton was going to ask Beau on a date.

A girls’ choice dance was on the near horizon, and he’d been hoping very much that Beau would ask him, despite it being girl's choice. That he had not done so had rattled his confidence. Now he was in an uncomfortable bind—I enjoyed his discomfort more than I should have—because Jessica Stanley had just invited him. He didn’t want to say yes, still hopeful that Beau would choose him (and prove him the victor over his other would-be suitors), but he didn’t want to say no and end up missing the dance altogether. Jessica, hurt by his hesitation and guessing the reason behind it, was thinking daggers at Beau. Again, I had the instinct to place myself between him and Jessica’s angry thoughts. I understood the instinct better now, but that only made it more frustrating when I could not act on it.

To think it had come to this! I was utterly fixated on the petty high school dramas that I’d once held so in contempt.

Mike was working up his nerve as he walked Beau to Biology. I listened to his struggles as I waited for them to arrive. The boy was weak. He had waited for this dance purposely, afraid to let his infatuation be known before he had shown a marked preference for him. He didn’t want to make himself vulnerable to rejection, preferring that he take that leap first.

Coward.

He sat down on our table again, comfortable through long familiarity, and I imagined the sound it would make if his body hit the opposite wall with enough force to break most of his bones.

“So,” he said to the boy, his eyes on the floor. “Jessica asked me to the spring dance.”

“That’s great,” Beau answered immediately and with enthusiasm. It was hard not to smile as Mike processed his tone. He’d been hoping for dismay. “You’ll have a lot of fun with Jessica.”

He scrambled for the right response. “Well…” He hesitated and almost turned tail. Then he rallied. “I told her I had to think about it.”

“Why would you do that?” he demanded. His tone was disapproving, but there was the faintest hint of relief there as well.

What did that mean? An unexpected, intense fury made my hands clench into fists.

Mike did not hear the relief. His face flushed red—fierce as I suddenly felt, this seemed like an open invitation—and he looked at the floor again as he spoke.

“I was wondering if… well, if you might be planning to ask me, or like, maybe we could go stag or something.”

Beau hesitated.

In that moment, I saw the future more clearly than Alice ever had.

The boy might say yes to Mike’s unspoken question now, or he might not, but either way, someday soon, he would say yes to someone. He was lovely and intriguing, and human males were not oblivious to this fact. Whether he would settle for someone in this lackluster crowd, or wait until he was free from Forks, the day would come that he would say yes.

I saw his life as I had before—college, career… love, marriage. I saw him on his father’s arm again, dressed in gauzy white, his face flushed with happiness as he moved to the sound of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus.” Why I saw him like that, I had no clue.

But the pain I felt while I imagined this future reminded me of the agony of transformation. It consumed me.

And not just pain, but outright rage.

The fury ached for some kind of physical outlet. Though this insignificant, undeserving boy might not be the one Beau would say yes to, I yearned to pulverize his skull with my fist, to let him stand as a proxy for whoever it would be.

I didn’t understand this emotion—it was such a tangle of pain and fury and desire and despair. I had never felt it before; I couldn’t put a name to it.

“Mike, I think you should tell her yes,” Beau said in a gentle voice.

Mike’s hopes plummeted. I would have enjoyed that under other circumstances, but I was lost in the aftershock and the remorse for what the pain and fury had done to me.

Alice was right. I was not strong enough.

Right now, she would be watching the future spin and twist, become mangled again. Would this please her?

“Did you already ask someone?” Mike asked sullenly. He glanced at me, suspicious for the first time in many weeks. I realized I had betrayed my interest; my head was inclined in Beau’s direction.

The wild envy in his thoughts—envy for whomever this boy preferred to him—suddenly put a name to my emotion.

I was jealous.

“No, I’m not a girl,” the boy said with a trace of humor in his voice. “Besides, I’m not going to the dance at all.”

Through all the remorse and anger, I felt relief at his words. It was wrong, dangerous even, to consider Mike and the other mortals interested in Beau as rivals, but I had to concede that they had become just that.

“Why not?” Mike asked harshly. It offended me that he used this tone with him. I bit back a growl. _If I can’t see him at all, maybe I don’t want to go either. Maybe, I’ll hang out with him. We could always go for a drive..._

I cringed at the thought of Beau agreeing to such a thing. 

“I’m going to visit my mom that Saturday,” he answered. He placed his chin in his hand, tilting his head the slightest bit. 

The curiosity was not as vicious as it would have been before—now that I was fully intending to find out the answers to everything. I would know the reasons behind this new revelation soon enough.

Mike’s voice turned unpleasantly wheedling. “Can’t you go some other weekend?”

“Sorry, no. You can’t get a refund for a plane ticket,” Beau was brusquer now. “So you shouldn’t make Jess wait any longer—it’s rude.”

His concern for Jessica’s feelings fanned the flames of my jealousy. This trip was clearly an excuse to say no—did he refuse purely out of loyalty to his friend? He was more than selfless enough for that. Did he actually wish he could say yes? Or were both guesses wrong? Was he interested in someone else?

“Yeah, you’re right,” Mike mumbled, so demoralized that I almost felt pity for him. Almost.

He dropped his eyes from the boy, cutting off my view of his face in his thoughts.

I wasn’t going to tolerate that.

I turned to read his face myself, for the first time in more than a month. It was a sharp relief to allow myself this. I imagined it would feel the same to press ice to an aching burn. An abrupt cessation of pain.

His eyes were closed, and his hands pressed against the sides of his face.

His shoulders curved inward defensively. He shook his head ever so slightly, as if he were trying to push some thought from his mind.

Frustrating. Fascinating.

Mr. Banner’s voice pulled him from his reverie, and his eyes slowly opened. He looked at me immediately, perhaps sensing my gaze. He stared up into my eyes with the same perplexed expression that had haunted me for so long.

I didn’t feel remorse or guilt or rage in that second. I knew they would come again, and soon, but for this one moment I rode a strange, jittery high. As if I had triumphed rather than lost.

He didn’t look away, though I stared with inappropriate intensity, trying vainly to read his thoughts through his liquid green eyes. They were full of questions, rather than answers.

I could see the reflection of my own eyes, black with thirst. It had been nearly two weeks since my last hunting trip; this was not the safest day for my will to crumble. But the blackness did not seem to frighten him. He still did not look away, and a soft, devastatingly appealing pink began to color his skin.

_What are you thinking now?_

I almost asked the question aloud, but at that moment, Mr. Banner called my name. I picked the correct answer out of his head and glanced briefly in his direction, sucking in a quick breath.

“The Krebs Cycle.”

Thirst scorched my throat—tightening my muscles and filling my mouth with venom—and I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate through the desire for his blood that raged inside me.

The monster was stronger than before, rejoicing. He embraced this dual future that gave him a fifty-fifty chance at what he craved so viciously. The third, shaky future I’d tried to construct through willpower alone had collapsed—destroyed by common jealousy, of all things—and he was so much closer to his goal.

The remorse and guilt now burned with the thirst, and if I’d had the ability to produce tears, they would have filled my eyes now.

What had I done?

Knowing the battle was already lost, there seemed to be no reason to resist what I wanted. I turned to stare at the boy again.

He had hidden in his hair, the first time since he had gotten here was his hair down, but I could see that his cheek was deep crimson now.

The monster liked that.

He did not meet my gaze again but twisted a strand of his dark hair nervously between his fingers. His delicate fingers, his fragile wrist—they were so breakable, looking for all the world as though just my breath could snap them.

No, no, no. I could not do this. He was too breakable, too good, too precious to deserve this. I couldn’t allow my life to collide with his, to destroy it.

But I couldn’t stay away from him, either. Alice was right about that.

The monster inside me hissed with annoyance as I struggled.

My brief hour with him passed all too quickly, while I vacillated between the rock and the hard place. The bell rang, and he started collecting his things without looking at me. This disappointed me, but I could hardly expect otherwise. The way I had treated him since the accident was inexcusable.

“Beau?” I said, unable to stop myself. My willpower lay in shreds.

He hesitated before looking at me. When he turned, his expression was guarded, suspicious.

I reminded myself that he had every right to distrust me. That he should.

He waited for me to continue, but I just stared at him, reading his face. I pulled in shallow mouthfuls of air at regular intervals, fighting my thirst.

“What?” he finally said, a hard edge to his voice. “Are you speaking to me again?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer his question. Was I speaking to him again, in the sense that he meant?

Not if I could help it. I would try to help it.

“No, not really,” I told him.

He closed his eyes, which only made things more difficult. It cut off my best avenue of access to his feelings. He took a long, slow breath without opening his eyes, and spoke. “Then what do you want, Edward?” 

Surely this was not a normal human way to converse. Why did he do it?

But how to answer him?

With the truth, I decided. I would be as truthful as I could with him from now on. I didn’t want to deserve his distrust, even if earning his trust was impossible.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. That was truer than he would ever know. Unfortunately, I could only safely apologize for the trivial. “I’m being very rude, I know. But it’s better this way, really.”

His eyes opened, their expression still wary. “I don’t know what you mean.”

I tried to get as much of a warning through to him as was allowed. “It’s better if we’re not friends.” Surely, he could sense that much. He was a bright boy. “Trust me.”

His eyes tightened, and I remembered that I had said those words to him before—just before breaking a promise. I winced when his teeth clenched together with a sharp click—he clearly remembered, too.

“It’s too bad you didn’t figure that out earlier,” he said angrily. “You could have saved yourself all this regret.”

I stared at him in shock. What did he know of my regrets?

“Regret? Regret for what?” I demanded.

“For not just letting that stupid van squish me!” he snapped.

I froze, stunned.

How could he be thinking that? Saving his life was the one acceptable thing I’d done since I met him. The only thing I was not ashamed of, that made me glad I existed at all. I’d been fighting to keep him alive since the first moment I’d caught his scent. How could he doubt my one good deed in all this mess?

“You think I regret saving your life?”

“I know you do. Why else would you be acting like this?,” he retorted.

His estimation of my intentions left me seething. “You don’t know anything.”

How confusing and incomprehensible the workings of his mind were! He must not think in the same way as other humans at all. That must be the explanation behind his mental silence. He was entirely other.

He jerked his face away, gritting his teeth again. His cheeks were flushed, with anger this time. Slamming his books together in a pile, he yanked them up into his arms, and marched toward the door without meeting my stare.

Even as vexed as I felt, something about his anger softened my annoyance. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was that made his exasperation somehow… endearing.

He walked stiffly, without looking where he was going, and his foot caught on the lip of the doorway. His things all crashed to the ground. Instead of bending to get them, he stood rigidly straight, not even looking down, as if he was not sure the books were worth retrieving.

No one was here to watch me. I flitted to his side and had his books in order before he had even examined the mess.

He bent halfway, saw me, and then froze. I handed his books back to him, making sure my icy skin never touched his.

“Thank you,” he said in a sharp voice.

“You’re welcome.” My voice was still rough with my former irritation, but before I could clear my throat and try again, he’d wrenched himself upright and stomped away toward his next class.

I watched until I could no longer see his angry figure.

Spanish passed in a blur. Mrs. Goff never questioned my abstraction—she knew my Spanish was superior to hers and gave me a great deal of latitude—leaving me free to think.

So I couldn’t ignore Beau. That much was obvious. But did it mean I had no choice but to destroy him? That could not be the only available future. There had to be some other choice, some delicate balance. I tried to think of a way.

I didn’t pay much attention to Emmett until the hour was nearly up. He was curious—Emmett was not overly intuitive about the shades in others’ moods, but he could see the obvious change in me. He wondered what had happened to remove the unrelenting glower from my face. He struggled to define the change, and finally decided that I looked hopeful.

Hopeful? Was that how I seemed from the outside?

I pondered the idea as we walked to the Volvo, wondering what exactly I should be hoping for.

But I didn’t have long to ponder. Sensitive as I always was to thoughts about the boy, the sound of Beau’s name in the heads of those humans I really should not think of as rivals caught my attention. Eric and Tyler, having heard—with much satisfaction—of Mike’s failure, were preparing to make their moves.

Eric was already in place, positioned against his truck where he could not avoid him. Tyler’s class was being held late to receive an assignment, and he was in a desperate hurry to catch him before he escaped.

This I had to see.

“Wait for the others here, all right?” I murmured to Emmett.

He eyed me suspiciously, but then shrugged and nodded.

_Kid’s lost his damn mind,_ he thought, amused.

Beau was on his way out of the gym, and I waited where he would not see me. As he got closer to Eric’s ambush, I strode forward, setting my pace so that I would walk by at the right moment.

I watched his body stiffen when he caught sight of the boy waiting for him. He froze for a moment, then relaxed and moved forward.

“Hey, Eric,” I heard him call in a friendly voice.

I was abruptly and unexpectedly anxious. What if this gangly teen with his unhealthy skin was somehow pleasing to him? Perhaps his earlier kindness to him had not been entirely selfless?

Eric swallowed loudly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Hi, Beau.”

He seemed unconscious of his nervousness.

“What’s up?” he asked, unlocking his truck without looking at Eric’s frightened expression.

“Uh, I was just wondering… if you would go to the spring dance with me?” His voice broke.

He finally looked up. Was he taken aback, or pleased? Eric couldn’t meet his gaze, so I couldn’t see Beau’s face in his mind.

“I thought it was girls’ choice,” he said, sounding flustered.

“Well, yeah,” Eric agreed wretchedly.

“Well, I don’t know if you missed the obvious, but I’m not a girl.” _You’re cute enough to look like one._ I kept my face neutral. I wouldn’t mind slapping him across the parking lot either. 

“Well… yeah.” Eric shoved his hands into his pockets. 

This pitiable boy did not irritate me as much as Mike Newton did, but I couldn’t find it in myself to feel sympathy for his angst until after Beau had answered him in a gentle voice.

“Thank you for asking me, but I’m going to be out of town that day.”

He’d already heard this; still, it was a disappointment.

“Oh,” he mumbled, barely daring to raise his eyes to the level of Beau’s nose. “Well, maybe next time.”

“Sure,” he agreed. Then he bit down on his lip, as if he regretted leaving him a loophole. That pleased me.

Eric slumped forward and walked away, headed in the wrong direction from his car, his only thought escape.

I passed him in that moment and heard his sigh of relief. I laughed before I could catch myself.

He whirled at the sound, but I stared straight ahead, trying to keep my lips from twitching in amusement.

Tyler was behind me, almost running in his hurry to catch Beau before he could drive away. He was bolder and more confident than the other two. He’d only waited to approach Beau this long because he’d respected Mike’s prior claim.

I wanted him to succeed in catching him for two reasons. If—as I was beginning to suspect—all this attention was annoying to Beau, I wanted to enjoy watching his reaction. But if it was not—if Tyler’s invitation was the one he’d been hoping for—then I wanted to know that, too.

I measured Tyler Crowley as competition, knowing it was reprehensible to do so. He seemed tediously average and unremarkable to me, but what did I know of Beau’s preferences? Maybe he liked average boys.

I winced at that thought. I could never be an average boy. How foolish it was to set myself up as a candidate for his affections. How could he ever care for someone who was, by default, the villain of the story?

He was too good for a villain.

Though I ought to have let him escape, my inexcusable curiosity kept me from doing what was right. Again. But what if Tyler missed his chance now, only to contact him later when I would have no way of knowing the outcome? I pulled my Volvo out into the narrow lane, blocking the exit.

Emmett and the others were on their way, but he’d described my strange behavior to them, and they were walking slowly, staring at me, trying to decipher what I was doing.

I watched Beau in my rearview mirror. He glowered toward the back of my car without meeting my gaze, looking as if he wished he were driving a tank rather than a rusted Chevy.

Tyler hurried to his car and got in line behind him, grateful for my inexplicable conduct. He waved at him, trying to catch his attention, but he didn’t notice. He waited a moment, and then left his car, forcing his gait into a saunter as he sidled up to the passenger-side window. He tapped on the glass.

Beau jumped, and then stared at him in confusion. After a second, he rolled the window down manually, seeming to have some trouble with it.

“I’m sorry, Tyler,” he said, his voice irritated. “I’m stuck behind Cullen.”

He said my surname in a hard voice.

“Oh, I know,” Tyler said, undeterred by his mood. “I just wanted to ask you something while we’re trapped here.”

His grin was cocky.

I was gratified by the way he blanched at his obvious intent.

“Will you ask me to the spring dance?” he said, no thought of defeat in his mind.

“I’m not going to be in town, Tyler. And I’m also not a girl.” he told him, irritation still plain in his voice.

“Yeah, Mike said that.”

“Then why—?” he started to ask.

He shrugged. “I was hoping you were just letting him down easy.”

His eyes flashed, then cooled. “Sorry, Tyler,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I really am going out of town.”

Given his usual practice of putting the needs of others above his own, I was a little surprised at his steely resolve when it came to this dance. Where did it spring from?

Tyler accepted his excuse, his self-assurance untouched. “That’s cool. We still have prom.”

He strutted back to his car.

I was right to have waited for this.

The horrified expression on his face was priceless. It told me what I should not so desperately have needed to know—that he had no feelings for any of these human males who wished to court him.

Also, his expression was possibly the funniest thing I’d ever seen.

My family arrived then, confused that I was, for a change, rocking with laughter rather than scowling murderously at everything in sight.

_What’s so funny?_ Emmett wanted to know.

I just shook my head as Beau revved his noisy engine angrily. He looked like he was wishing for a tank again.

“Let’s go!” Rosalie hissed impatiently. “Stop being an idiot. If you can.”

Her words didn’t annoy me—I was too entertained. But I did as she asked.

No one spoke to me on the way home. I continued to chuckle every now and again, thinking of Beau’s face.

As I turned onto the drive—speeding up now that there were no witnesses—Alice ruined my mood.

“So do I get to talk to Beau now?” she asked suddenly.

“No,” I snapped.

“Not fair! What am I waiting for?”

“I haven’t decided anything, Alice.”

“Whatever, Edward.”

In her head, Beau’s two destinies were clear again.

“What’s the point in getting to know him?” I mumbled, suddenly morose. “If I’m just going to kill him?”

Alice hesitated for a second. “You have a point,” she admitted.

I took the final hairpin turn at ninety miles an hour, and then screeched to a stop an inch from the rear garage wall.

“Enjoy your run,” Rosalie said smugly as I threw myself out of the car.

But I didn’t go running today. Instead, I went hunting.

The others were scheduled to hunt tomorrow, but I couldn’t afford to be thirsty now. I overdid it, drinking more than necessary, glutting myself again—a small grouping of elk and one black bear I was lucky to stumble across this early in the year. I was so full it was uncomfortable. Why couldn’t that be enough? Why did his scent have to be so much stronger than anything else?

And not just his scent—whatever it was about him that marked him for disaster. He’d been in Forks for mere weeks and already he’d twice come within inches of a violent end. For all I knew, right at this very moment he could have wandered into the path of another death sentence. What would it be this time? A meteorite smashing through his roof and crushing him in his bed?

I could hunt no more and the sun was still hours and hours from rising. Now that it had occurred to me, the idea of the meteorite and all its possible allies was hard to dismiss. I tried to be rational, to consider the odds against all the disasters I could imagine, but that didn’t help. What were the odds, after all, that the boy would come to live in a town with a decent percentage of vampires as permanent residents? What were the odds that he would appeal to one so perfectly?

What if something happened to him in the night? What if I went to school tomorrow, every sense and feeling focused onto the space where he should be, and his seat was empty?

Abruptly, the risk felt unacceptable.

The only way I could be positive he was safe was if there was someone in place to catch the meteorite before it could touch him. The jittery high swept through me again when I realized that I was going to go find the boy.

It was past midnight, and Beau’s house was dark and quiet. His truck was parked against the curb, his father’s police cruiser in the driveway. There were no conscious thoughts anywhere in the neighborhood. I watched the house from the blackness of the forest that bordered it on the east.

There was no evidence of any kind of danger… aside from myself.

I listened and picked out the sound of two people breathing inside the house, two even heartbeats. So all must be well. I leaned against the trunk of a young hemlock and settled in to wait for stray meteorites.

The problem with waiting was that it freed up the mind for all kinds of speculation. Obviously the meteorite was just a metaphor for all the unlikely things that could go wrong. But not every danger would streak across the sky with a brilliant splash of fire. I could think of many that would give no warning, hazards that could slink into the dark house silently, that might already be there.

These were ridiculous worries. This street didn’t have a natural gas line, so a carbon monoxide leak was improbable. I doubted they used coal frequently. The Olympic Peninsula had very little in the way of dangerous wildlife. Anything large I would be able to hear now. There were no venomous snakes, scorpions, or centipedes, and just a few spiders, none of them deadly to a healthy adult, and unlikely to be found indoors regardless. Ridiculous. I knew that. I knew I was being irrational.

But I felt anxious, unsettled. I couldn’t push the dark imaginings from my mind. If I could just see him…

I would take a closer look.

In only half a second, I had crossed the yard and scaled the side of the house. This upstairs window would be a bedroom, probably the master. Maybe I should have started in the back. Less conspicuous that way. Dangling from the eave above the window by one hand, I looked through the glass, and my breath stopped.

It was his room. I could see one small bed, with no covers and his sheets twisted around. He wasn’t there. I dropped down, looking around in the different windows. I made note of the tree next to his bedroom window. Things will be easier if I have that. I finally spotted him in the living room, watching a show I had no interest in. 

He was perfectly fine, of course, as the rational part of me had already known. Safe… but not at ease. As I watched, I noted how bored he looked. He brought the blanket closer around himself. Did he sense the danger near him?

I was repulsed by myself as I watched him. How was I any better than some sick peeping tom? I wasn’t any better. I was much, much worse.

Still not peaceful. The little furrow was there between his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth turned down. His lips parted. Was he speaking to himself?

Curiosity flared, overpowering self-disgust. So long I’d tried to hear him and failed. The lure of those unprotected, unconsciously spoken thoughts was impossibly tempting.

What were human rules to me, after all? How many did I ignore on a daily basis?

I thought of the multitude of illegal documents my family needed to live as we liked. False names and false histories, driver’s licenses that let us enroll in school and medical credentials that allowed Carlisle to work as a doctor. Papers that made our strange grouping of nearly identically aged adults comprehensible as a family. None of it would be necessary if we didn’t try to have brief periods of permanence, if we didn’t prefer to have a home.

Then, of course, there was the way we funded our lives. Insider trading laws didn’t apply to psychics, but it certainly wasn’t honest, what we did. And the transfer of inheritances from one fabricated name to another wasn’t legal, either.

And then there were all the murders.

We didn’t take them lightly, but obviously none of us had ever been punished by human courts for our crimes. We covered them up—also a crime.

Then why should I feel so guilty over one little misdemeanor? Human laws had never applied to me. And this was hardly my first adventure with breaking and entering.

I knew I could do this safely. The monster was restless but well fettered.

I would keep a careful distance. I would not harm him. He would never know I’d been here. I only wanted to be certain that he was safe.

It was all rationalization, evil arguments from the devil on my left shoulder. I knew that, but I had no angel on the right. I would behave as the nightmarish creature that I was.

Had I really once believed him average-looking? I thought of that first day, and my disgust for the humans who were so fascinated by him. But when I remembered his face in their minds then, I could not understand why I had not immediately found him beautiful. It seemed an obvious thing.

Right now—with his dark hair tangled and wild around his pale face, wearing a threadbare t-shirt full of holes with tatty sweatpants, his features relaxed, his full lips slightly parted—he took my breath away. Or would have, I thought wryly, if I were breathing.

I stared at his face and tried to think of some way to make the future bearable.

Hurting him was not bearable. Did that mean my only choice was to try to leave again?

The others could not argue with me now. My absence would not put anyone in danger. There would be no suspicion, nothing to link anyone’s thoughts back to the accident.

I wavered as I had this afternoon, and nothing seemed possible.

A small brown spider crawled out from the edge of the window frame. My arrival must have disturbed it. Eratigena agrestis—a hobo spider, from its size a juvenile male. Once considered dangerous, more recent scientific study had proven its venom inconsequential to humans. However, its bite was still painful.… I reached out with one finger and crushed it silently.

Perhaps I should have let the creature be, but the thought of anything hurting him was intolerable.

And then suddenly, all my thoughts were intolerable, too.

Because I could kill every spider in his home, cut the thorns off every rosebush he might one day touch, block every speeding car that got within a mile of him, but there was no task I could perform that would make me something other than what I was. I stared at my white, stone-like hand—so grotesquely inhuman—and despaired.

I could not hope to compete against the human boys, whether these specific boys appealed to him or not. I was the villain, the nightmare. How could he see me as anything else? If he knew the truth about me, it would frighten and repulse him. Like the intended victim in a horror movie, he would run away, shrieking in terror.

I remembered his first day in Biology… and knew that this was exactly the right reaction for him to have.

It was foolishness to imagine that if I had been the one to ask him to the silly dance, he would have canceled his hastily made plans and agreed to go with me.

I was not the one he was destined to say yes to. It was someone else, someone human and warm. And I could not even let myself—someday, when that yes was said—hunt him down and kill him, because he deserved him, whoever he was. Beau deserved happiness and love with whomever he chose.

I owed it to him to do the right thing now. I could no longer pretend that I was only in danger of loving this boy.

After all, it really didn’t matter if I left, because Beau could never see me the way I wished he would. Never see me as someone worthy of love.

““Edward Cullen. Tall, handsome. He’s basically a god,” Beau said.

I froze, staring at his eyes.

Had he caught me here? He was now headed to the kitchen, yet his voice had been so clear.

  
  


“He’s… absolutely perfect. And I’m sure he’s not—” his hands gripped the kitchen counter. I moved to get closer to him. 

He was talking about me.

Could a dead, frozen heart beat again? It felt as though mine was about to.

He was talking about me, and it wasn’t even bad. He was complimenting me, naming attributes he noticed and seemed to enjoy. It was all positive.

I struggled to find words to name the feelings that flooded through me, but I had no words strong enough to hold them. For a long moment, I drowned in them.

When I surfaced, I was not the same man I had been.

My life was an unending, unchanging midnight. It must, by necessity, always be midnight for me. So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight?

At the time I became a vampire, trading my soul and mortality for immortality in the searing pain of transformation, I had truly been frozen. My body had turned into something more like stone than flesh, enduring and unchanging. My self, also, had frozen as it was—my personality, my likes and dislikes, my moods and desires; all were fixed in place.

It was the same for the rest of them. We were all frozen. Living stone.

When change came for one of us, it was a rare and permanent thing. I had seen it happen with Carlisle, and then a decade later with Rosalie. Love had changed them in an eternal way, a way that would never fade. More than eighty years had passed since Carlisle found Esme, and yet he still looked at her with the incredulous eyes of first love. It would always be so for them.

It would always be so for me, too. I would always love this fragile human boy, for the rest of my limitless existence.

I began to plot.

I loved him, and so I would try to be strong enough to leave him. I knew I wasn’t that strong now. I would work on that one. But perhaps I was strong enough to circumvent the future in another way.

Alice had seen only two futures for Beau, and now I understood them both.

Loving him would not keep me from killing him if I let myself make mistakes.

Yet I could not feel the monster now, could not find him anywhere in me. Perhaps love had silenced him forever. If I killed him now, it would not be intentional, only a horrible accident.

I would have to be inordinately careful. I would never, ever be able to let my guard down. I would have to control my every breath. I would have to keep an always cautious distance.

I would not make mistakes.

I finally understood that second future. I’d been baffled by that vision—what could possibly happen to result in Beau becoming a prisoner to this immortal half life? Now—devastated by longing for the boy—I could understand how I might, in unforgivable selfishness, ask my father for that favor. Ask him to take away his life and his soul so that I could keep him forever.

He deserved better.

But I saw one more future, one thin wire that I might be able to walk, if I could keep my balance.

Could I do it? Be with him and leave him human?

“You can come out now. I know you’re there.” 

“Shit!” I said under my breath. How did he figure out I was here? 

I stepped out from my hiding spot. He was even more gorgeous than when I had seen him sitting on his couch. 

“Couldn’t help but stalk me? You know you could’ve just come to the door, right?” I could have come to the door in the middle of the night? The thought of simply knocking on his door and asking to enter had not even occurred to me. How odd a suggestion. 

I moved forward. I slowly closed the distance as soon as it was clear by his jovial tone that he wasn’t disturbed by my indiscretions. “I’m… sorry about that. I got... worried about you…” I said truthfully. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. 

“And what had Edward Cullen so worried about my safety that he came to my house in the middle of the night, hm?” I tried to think of a suitable excuse but—

“Meteorites smashing you in your sleep.” I spewed. 

“Meteorites? And what were you going to do about that? Save me?” I nodded. Beau looked more horrified by that revelation than he had when I had confirmed I came to his house in the middle of the night and was spying on him. Why were his reactions so different from an ordinary human?

“I was going to catch it before it could get to you.” Why had I just given him such private information? My own inner thoughts had never so freely flowed through my lips like they had in that moment. 

“That's awfully thoughtful of you.” There was an edge to Beau’s voice I couldn’t quite place. He twirled a strand of hair hanging loose by his face. I wished it was my finger instead of his playing with his hair. 

“Is it? I was just telling myself it was rather unsettling that I was here. That I’m no better than a peeping tom.” I came to a stop right in front of Beau. It registered then that he was far shorter than the average human. Even with the height boost of his low porch, I was still nearly eye level with him. He was bent over the railing, but that didn’t affect how jarring the true height difference between us was. A thrill shot through my entire body. 

I wrapped my hands around the metal bars on the porch when I thought about how enjoyable that height difference was. I focused on his eyes, hoping once again to unlock the secrets locked within instead of focusing on these new feelings and interests. 

“Well… for what it's worth I think it’s only a little creepy.” He had a permanent smile plastered to his face. How odd. I had just admitted to basically stalking him and he was smiling, like that was the best news he could have ever received. Was I missing something about humans now? 

“How do I make it perfectly normal then?” My voice was low and husky. The words themselves were quiet, barely above a whisper. 

I didn’t understand what I was doing. Was I… flirting? I had never earnestly flirted before in my life. I had never been physically interested in anyone. I was in what equated to a dream; everything felt so surreal and out of place, while simultaneously so much better than any other moment that was a part of my reality. I wanted to be close to him. I wanted to touch him beyond the bounds of my thirst, and that was more disconcerting than that familiar burn in the back of my throat. 

“Well, you could always make me aware you want to stop by for a late night visit.” His voice was breathy, hushed, and utterly seductive. He obviously had more experience than I did, and he was far more attractive than a human had any business being. 

“How do I do that? Throw rocks at your window?” I chuckled. He laughed. I enjoyed the musical sound of his laughter. I wanted to make him laugh just so I could hear it. Another odd development. 

“That would be something I would pay to see.” He reached his hand out. “Give me your phone.” I complied, pulling the phone from my pocket and dropping it into Beau’s hand without touching him. He opened the phone, finding the contacts to enter what I assumed to be his personal cell number. He gave me the phone back once he had finished. 

“Now you have my number. Message me whenever you feel the urge to check on me.” He hummed quietly as I put the phone back in my pocket. The sound was enjoyable and soothing. 

“How am I supposed to check on you?” I squeezed the metal bars of the railing. Was I still plotting to attack him? I did not think so. 

“There’s a tree by my window. You can climb it and knock unless I tell you I’m not in there.” He shrugged, his smile still firmly intact. “I’ll let you in.” 

“You really shouldn’t.” I was struggling even outside in the open air to keep myself under control. What would I do in his room, with everything embedded with his delicious scent?

“Why’s that?” Did he really not get it? I thought I had given him enough reason to stay away from me. 

“It really is better if you don’t trust me.” 

“Why? Are you a serial killer?” I laughed again. Who knew Beau could be so funny? 

“No, no. Nothing like that.” 

“So when can I expect you to go on a rampage?” I smiled, finding the question ironic. Hadn’t I been asking myself the exact same thing since I had met him? 

“Anytime. I’m like a bomb that’s ready to go off at any moment.” He really didn’t get how much danger he was in simply by being around me did he? 

It was so sudden. I had no time to brace myself for what happened. 

He leaned forward, pressing his soft, warm, plump lips to mine. He used one hand to grip the railing and the other to grip my shirt. His knuckles were pressed into my clothed shoulder, burning my skin even without direct contact. His heat was feverish even in just his fingers. How much warmer was the rest of his body in comparison? 

I had just taken a breath as this was happening. Thirst burned my throat as the heat from his lips poured into my own. 

This wasn’t something I had expected. I almost pulled away and ran from Beau simply from the shock of it all. That would have been the right thing to do.

Instead, I kept myself planted, and my hands firmly around the metal bars of the railing. I wanted to touch him, and I only gripped the bars tighter. If I really loved him, I could restrain myself from manhandling him. I could control myself that much. 

We pulled away simultaneously. I stared at his flushed face, his now wet lips and soaked up his disheveled state. Could he look any better than he did in that moment?

Beau cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” I spoke before he could finish. 

“Don’t be sorry. I don’t mind at all.”

Deliberately, I locked my body into perfect stillness, froze it in place, then took a deep breath. Another, then another, letting his scent rip through me like wildfire. The air around me was thick with his perfume; his fragrance was like a cloud around us. My head swam from the pain and pleasure, but I fought the spinning. I would have to get used to this if I were going to attempt any kind of regular proximity to him. Another deep, burning breath.

I looked into his eyes, searching for what I had done to get him to kiss me. I was at a loss. 

I truly had not minded. I, once again, had spoken my own thoughts so freely. I thought he had hated my icy touch, and this new development had me running through several other new ideas of my own. 

I impulsively climbed up onto the porch, standing on the opposite side of the railing from Beau. Was I going to endanger him more? Was I really going to get in close proximity to him and let my own judgement be clouded by hormones, pheromones, and general chemical and physical reactions to such a powerful and, generally, unimportant bodily stimulus? 

The was a choice made in a split second. I swung my legs over the thin metal railing and finally joined him on the porch. Now, standing in front of him, the difference in our height was even more evident. He was shorter than even the average young teenage girl, nevermind other teenage boys and even full grown adult women and men. I never imagined myself to be a man into a great size difference between me and my partner. I never imagined myself to be a man attracted to other men either. I was learning some very intriguing things about myself. 

“Would you mind if I kissed you this time?” I cupped his cheek, turning his face up towards me. I needed to see his eyes. They were the one tool I had to gain any sort of extra insight into what he was truly thinking. His next words were so soft and light, I wasn’t entirely sure I had been meant to hear them at all.

“I wouldn’t mind at all.” He joined me halfway. His lips were scorching hot; somehow, they had gotten warmer in the time we had been separated. Did he have a fever? Was he sick? If that was the case, his luck was even worse than I had thought. 

The kiss was slow and gentle, and everything seemed to be in slow motion. He stood on his tip toes, dropping the blanket that then pooled around our feet. I wanted to touch him. I wanted him to touch me, and he rewarded me by granting my wish; he reached up and snaked his arms around my neck. He was pulling me down and closer to him. I finally gave in, and placed my hands on his hips, groping at them because touching him anywhere was overwhelming. But it wasn’t enough. It was far from what I actually found myself desiring. 

I slid my hands up the hem of his shirt, just barely touching his naked skin underneath the flimsy layer of cotton. I brushed my thumbs lightly over the crest of his hips, delighting at how this part of his body was even warmer than his fingers and feverish lips. 

He raised himself up on the balls of his feet, and I felt his fingers intertwine in my hair and tug ever so slightly. The kiss stopped being gentle and became exceedingly desperate and wild. I held his hips firm, worried I was leaving bruises on his skin with how hard I was holding him. 

I came up with a quick solution to avoid breaking him with my full strength. I spun us around, switching our places on the porch, and pinned him against the railing. 

If anyone had passed at that moment, they would have registered this as one of two situations: one being that of a romantic and passionate kiss between a couple. The other, and the more likely and accurate situation, considering everything up to that point, would be of one man attacking another, preventing the much smaller and weaker prey from moving or running away. Which would I have seen If I could have been walking past this scene and watched?

I felt his teeth dig deliciously into my lower lip as he gently nibbled on the flesh. That was single handedly the most erotic thing I had experienced, and I wanted him to continue to do it forever. Not that I had much experience. I placed my hands on his plump and firm rear end briefly, lifting him onto the railing and seating him there before pushing in between his legs. 

Even through clothes, the heat that radiated from him was overwhelming. Humans were not usually this warm. Right? 

Even so, my hormone riddled brain didn’t process his heat with worry. I pressed forward, grinding my hips into his as my jeans became tighter and tighter. There was no hiding what I had in mind. Feeling him harden against my own growing erection did nothing to quell the thoughts in my brain or the actions I was taking without careful consideration. In fact, every action became more impulsive. His ankles locked together behind my back and he pulled me closer with his legs. His body heat felt searing in comparison to my own temperature. I ground myself between his legs harder. 

Why was I reacting in such a way? I had never been attracted to anyone, human or vampire, in such a way. But I wanted Beau. I sincerely wanted him in any and every way I could have him. His legs wrapped around me didn’t help to make this any easier. 

I felt the pull of my clothes and followed it, barely touching tongues with Beau. He tasted even better than I could have imagined. I gripped his thighs, slowly moving my way up. Was this right? Was I doing this correctly? 

I felt the slight tremors in his body. He was responding to my advances. I wanted to do more. I wanted kiss his neck, to bite him just like he had with me—

I pulled away. _No._

“I should go,” I said between clenched teeth. I could tell he was disappointed. I was just as disappointed I wanted to stay, but I needed to go.

“Okay.” His simple response signaled the end to this moment. I untangled his legs from around my hips and lifted him from the railing, setting him down in front of me. I retrieved his blanket from the ground and noticed his bare feet. How had his toes not frozen off? 

“I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow, Beau.” I would. I would make sure I did. It wasn’t the right thing to do, but it was what I wanted to do. 

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. I found that his own nervous gesture made me jealous. I wanted to bite that lip. I settled for wrapping the blanket around his shoulders instead.

“Okay.” The repeated phrase seemed more doubtful than the previous time. I would be there. I would destroy that doubt. 

I left, walking down the street and disappearing around a corner. My stomach sank as I got farther from him. Why did I feel so guilty?

I got home just after the others had left for school. I changed quickly, avoiding Esme’s questioning eyes. She saw the feverish light in my face and felt both worry and relief. My long melancholy had pained her greatly, and she was glad that it seemed to be over.

I ran to school, arriving a few seconds after my siblings did. They did not turn, though Alice at least must have known that I stood here in the thick woods that bordered the pavement. I waited until no one was looking and then strolled casually from between the trees into the lot full of parked cars.

I heard Beau’s truck rumbling around the corner, and I paused behind a Suburban, where I could watch without being seen.

He drove into the lot, glaring at my Volvo for a long moment before he parked in one of the most distant spaces, a frown on his face.

It was strange to remember that he was probably still angry with me, and with good reason. The prior night’s events had clouded and mucked things up, but he was most definitely still furious with me.. 

I wanted to laugh at myself—or kick myself. All my plotting and planning was entirely moot if he didn’t care for me, too, wasn’t it? That kiss could have been about something completely random. I was such an arrogant fool.

Well, it was so much better for him if he didn’t care for me. That wouldn’t stop me from pursuing him, from trying. But I would listen for his no. I owed him that. I owed him more. I owed him the truth I was not allowed to give him. So I would give him as much truth as I could. I would try to warn him. And when he confirmed that I would never be the one he would say yes to, I would leave.

I walked silently forward, wondering how best to approach him.

He made it easy. His truck key slipped through his fingers as he got out of the cab, and fell into a deep puddle.

He reached down, but I got to it first, retrieving it before he had to put his fingers in the cold water.

I leaned back against his truck as he started and then straightened up.

“How do you do that?” he demanded.

Yes, he was still angry.

I offered him the key. “Do what?”

He held his hand out, and I dropped it into his palm. I took a deep breath, pulling in his scent. Was it stronger today? How was that even possible? 

“Appear out of thin air,” he clarified.

“Beau, it’s not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant.” The words were wry, almost a joke. Was there anything he didn’t see?

Did he hear how my voice wrapped around his name like a caress?

He glared at me, not appreciating my humor. His heartbeat sped—from anger? From fear? After a moment, he looked down.

“I’m not that unobservant,” he muttered under his breath. I had to hold back from laughing out loud. He was like a petulant child throwing a fit. 

“Why the traffic jam last night?” he asked without meeting my eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don’t exist, not irritating me to death.” It was an abrupt change of subject that threw me off. 

Still very angry. It was going to take some effort to make things right with him. I remembered my resolve to be truthful.

“That was for Tyler’s sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance.” And then I laughed. I couldn’t help it, thinking of his expression yesterday. Concentrating so hard on keeping him safe, on controlling my physical response to him, left me fewer resources to manage my emotions.

“You—” he gasped, and then broke off, appearing to be too furious to finish. There it was—that same expression. I choked back another laugh. He was mad enough already.

“And I’m not pretending you don’t exist,” I finished. It felt right to make my tone casual, teasing. I didn’t want to frighten him more. I had to hide the depth of my feelings, keep things light.

“So you are trying to irritate me to death? Since Tyler’s van didn’t do the job?”

A quick flash of anger pulsed through me. How could he honestly believe that? How long was he going to continue to throw that in my face at every chance possible?

It was irrational for me to be so affronted—he didn’t know all the effort I’d expended to keep him alive; he didn’t know that I’d fought with my family for him. But I was angry all the same. 

“Beau, you are utterly absurd,” I snapped.

He turned his back on me. He began to walk away.

Remorse. My anger was unfair. 

“Wait,” I pleaded.

He did not stop, so I followed him.

“I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m not saying it isn’t true”—it was absurd to imagine that I wanted him harmed in any way— “but it was rude to say it, anyway.”

“Why won’t you leave me alone?”

Was this my no? Was that what he wanted? Were our kisses truly meaningless?

I remembered perfectly the tone of his voice, the expression on his face as he had silently asked me to stay.

But if he now said no… well, then that would be that. I knew what I would have to do.

_Keep it light_ , I reminded myself. This could be the last time I would see him. If that was the case, I needed to leave him with the right memory. So I would play the normal human boy. Most importantly, I would give him a choice, and then accept his answer.

“I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me.” A course of action had just occurred to me, and I laughed.

“Do you have a multiple personality disorder?” he asked.

It must seem that way. My mood was wildly erratic, so many new emotions coursing through me.

“You’re doing it again,” I pointed out.

He sighed. “Fine then. What do you want to ask?”

“I was wondering if, a week from Saturday…” I watched the shock cross his face, and fought back another laugh. “You know, the day of the spring dance—”

He cut me off, finally returning his eyes to mine. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“Will you please allow me to finish?”

He waited in silence, his teeth pressing into his soft lower lip. And my jealous thoughts from last night came back with brutal force. I wanted to be the one to bite his lip. Only me. 

That sight distracted me for a second. Strange, unfamiliar reactions stirred deep in my forgotten human core. I tried to shake them off so I could play my role.

“I heard you say you were going to be out of town that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride?” I offered. I’d realized that, better than just learning about his plans, I might share them. If he said yes.

He stared at me blankly. “What?”

“Do you want a ride to wherever you plan on going?” Alone in a car with him—my throat burned at the thought. I took a deep breath. Get used to it.

“With who?” he asked, confused.

“Myself, obviously,” I said slowly.

“Why?”

Was it really such a shock that I would want his company? He must have applied the worst possible meaning to my past behavior.

“Well,” I said as casually as possible, “I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and to be honest, I’m not sure if your truck can make it very far.” It felt safer to tease him than to allow myself to be too serious.

“My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern. Besides, if you listened, you'd know I’ll be visiting my mom,” he said in the same surprised voice. He started walking again. I kept pace with him.

Not an explicit rejection, but close. Was he being polite?

"I know it was a lie. Did you really expect anyone outside of the Three Stooges to not know you were lying so they'd leave you alone?" Beau was rubbing off on me. I had even gained some of his quick-witted humor I enjoyed so much. 

He stared back at me, blank faced, and I burst into laughter. His reactions were to good to resist. He was funny even when he didn't mean to be. 

“And to ask you another question: can your truck make it to Seattle on one tank of gas?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

His heart was beating faster again, his breath coming more quickly. I thought the teasing should put him at ease, but maybe I was frightening him again.

“The wasting of finite resources is everyone’s business.” My response sounded normal and casual to me, but I couldn’t tell if he heard it the same way. His silent mind left me always floundering.

“Honestly, Edward, I can’t keep up with you. I thought you didn’t want to be my friend.”

A thrill shot through me when he spoke my name, and I was back on his porch, kissing him, looking into his eyes, silently wanting me to stay. I wished I could live in that moment forever.

But on this point, only honesty was acceptable.

“I said it would be better if we weren’t friends, not that I didn’t want to be.”

“Oh, thanks, now that’s all cleared up,” he said sarcastically.

He paused, under the edge of the cafeteria’s roof, and met my gaze again. His heartbeats stuttered. In fear or anger?

I chose my words carefully. He needed to see. To understand that it was in his best interest to tell me to go.

“It would be more… prudent for you not to be my friend.” Staring into the foggy jade depths of his eyes, I entirely lost my hold on light. “But I’m tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau.” The words felt like they’d burned their way out of my mouth.

His breathing stopped, and in the second it took for it to restart, I panicked. I’d truly terrified him, hadn’t I?

All the better. I would collect my no and attempt to bear it.

“Will you go to Seattle with me?” I demanded, point-blank.

He bit his lip, his heart drumming loudly. I focused more on the action and how it made me irate and jealous beyond belief.

“Sure. Why not?” 

Yes. He’d said yes to me.

And then my conscience smote me. What would this cost him?

“You really should stay away from me,” I warned him. Did he hear me? Would he escape the future I was threatening him with? Couldn’t I do anything to save him from me?

_Keep it light,_ I shouted at myself. “I’ll see you in class.”

And instantly remembered that I would not see him in class. He scattered my thoughts so thoroughly.

I had to concentrate to stop myself from running as I fled.


	10. Blood Type

I made my way to English in a daze. I didn't even realize when I first walked in that class had already started.

"Thank you for joining us, Mister Swan," Mr. Mason said in a disparaging tone.

I rolled my eyes and hurried to my seat.

It wasn't till class ended that I realized Mike wasn't sitting in his usual seat next to me. I felt a twinge of guilt. But he and Eric both met me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn't totally unforgiven. Mike seemed to become more himself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as he talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed to take a minor break, and so maybe his beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing him yesterday. It was hard; rain or no rain, it would still only be in the high forties, if we were lucky.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn't just imagined what Edward had said, and the way his eyes had looked. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I'd confused with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to him on any level.

So I was impatient and frightened as Jessica and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see his face, to see if he'd gone back to the cold, indifferent person I'd known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I'd really heard what I thought I'd heard this morning. Jessica babbled on and on about her dance plans — Lauren and Angela had asked the other boys and they were all going together — completely unaware of my inattention.

Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on his table. The other four were there, but he was absent. Had he gone home? I followed the still-babbling Jessica through the line, crushed. I'd lost my appetite — I bought nothing but a bottle of lemonade. I just wanted to go sit down and sulk.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you again," Jessica said, finally breaking through my abstraction with his name. "I wonder why he's sitting alone today."

My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Edward, smiling crookedly, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where he usually sat. Once he'd caught my eye, he raised one hand and motioned with his index finger for me to join him. As I stared in disbelief, he winked.

"Does he mean you ?" Jessica asked with insulting astonishment in her voice.

"Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework," I muttered for her benefit. "Um, I'd better go see what he wants."

I could feel her staring after me as I walked away. I could feel her jealousy, and I wondered how jealous she would have been if she knew Edward and I had kissed not once, but twice. That I could have easily led him up to my room last night and had my way with him. That would’ve been a much more appealing outcome than what actually happened. And her tomato red face as she fumed was pretty satisfying too. 

When I reached his table, I stood behind the chair across from him, unsure.

"Why don't you sit with me today?" he asked, smiling.

I sat down, crossing one leg over the other and resting my arm on the tabletop. Being that close to him was not helpful. Not in the slightest. He wanted me to be there, and I wanted to be there, despite all the pain I was in. He stared at me, his butterscotch eyes dancing with curiosity and interest. 

He seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

"This is different," I finally managed. I let a small smirk dance on my lips. 

"Well…" He paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

I laughed. He was funny when he didn’t mean to be. I wished he would say more impulsive statements. 

"You might as well. After all, what’s life without indulging in a few pleasures, am I right?," I eventually said. I rested my chin in my palm, and his eyes darted quickly to my throat, then back to my face.

"I’ll have to agree with you on that one." He smiled again, and then he changed the subject. "I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you."

"They'll survive." I could feel their stares boring into my back. They didn’t matter. They were all uninteresting in comparison to this exchange. 

"I may not give you back, though," he said with a wicked glint in his eyes. My insides twisted, and heat rushed through my entire body. 

I gulped. _Don’t give me back. Ever._

He laughed. "You look worried."

"No," I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke. "Surprised, actually… what brought all this on?" I squeezed my thighs together. How could I be worried?

"I told you — I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." He was still smiling, but his ocher eyes were serious.

"Giving up?" I repeated. It didn’t escape me that there was a purr to my words. I really needed to feed more often. 

"Yes — giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." His smile faded as he explained, and a hard edge crept into his voice.

"That sounds like a solid plan to me." I shifted my weight and recrossed my legs. 

That breathtaking crooked smile reappeared. Another wave of heat rushed through me, and the pain was steadily getting worse. 

"I always say too much when I'm talking to you — that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry — I don't understand any of it," I said wryly. 

"I'm counting on that." _Don’t count too hard._

"So, in plain English, are we friends now?" I bit my lip, noticing the slight tense in his body. interesting. 

"Friends…" he mused, dubious. Everything up until this point supported there being a little more to it than that. Friends was always a safe label to start with though. 

"Or not," I muttered.

He grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you." Behind his smile, the warning was real.

"You say that a lot," I noted, trying to ignore the sudden trembling in my stomach and keep my voice even. I really should have drank some blood this morning. It was a stupid choice, and now, I was struggling to not jump over the table and fuck him. How embarrassing. 

"Yes, because you're not listening to me. I'm still waiting for you to believe it. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."

"I think you've made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too." My eyes narrowed.

“I should probably apologize for that.” He smiled apologetically. “Not that it’s entirely untrue but, still rude nonetheless.” 

"So, as long as I'm being… not smart, we'll try to be friends?" I struggled to sum up the confusing exchange.

"That sounds about right."

I looked down at my hand wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now.

"What are you thinking?" he asked curiously.

I looked up into his deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are."

His jaw tightened, but he kept his smile in place with some effort.

"Are you having any luck with that?" he asked in an offhand tone.

"Not too much," I admitted.

He chuckled. "What are your theories?"

I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker. It was a personal joke to entertain myself and throw him off the trail of my own immortality, but there was no way I was going to own up to it anyway.

"Won't you tell me?" he asked, tilting his head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile.

I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."

"That's really frustrating, you know," he complained.

"No," I disagreed quickly, my eyes narrowing, "I can't imagine why that would be frustrating at all — just because someone refuses to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while they're making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean… Now, why would that be frustrating?"

He grimaced.

"Or better," I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, "say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things — from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that, either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating."

"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?" A little. 

"I don't like double standards."

We stared at each other, unsmiling.

He glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, he snickered.

"What?"

"Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you — he's debating whether or not to come break up our fight." He snickered again.

"I don't know who you're talking about," I said frostily. "But I'm sure you're wrong, anyway."

"I'm not. I told you, most people are easy to read."

"Except me, of course." I smirked, smug and satisfied. 

"Yes. Except for you." His mood shifted suddenly; his eyes turned brooding. "I wonder why that is."

I had to look away from the intensity of his stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, distracted. Of course I was. Just not for human food. 

"No," I lied. I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was tied in knots.

"You?" I looked at the empty table in front of him.

"No, I'm not hungry." I didn't understand his expression — it looked like he was enjoying some private joke.

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked after a second of hesitation.

He was suddenly wary. "That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," I assured him.

He waited, guarded but curious.

"I just wondered… if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.

"That sounds fair." He was pressing his lips together to keep from laughing when I looked up.

"Thanks."

"Then can I have one answer in return?" he demanded.

"One."

"Tell me one theory."

Whoops. "Not that one."

"You didn't qualify, you just promised one answer," he reminded me.

"And you've broken promises yourself," I reminded him with a smirk.

"Just one theory — I won't laugh."

"Yes, you will." I was positive about that.

He looked down, and then glanced up at me through his long black lashes, his ocher eyes scorching.

"Please?" he breathed, leaning toward me.

I blinked. My mind ran wild with a million other things I’d rather be doing with him than sitting in some stupid high school cafeteria. 

"Er, what?" I asked, dazed. My head was beginning to fog over as his scent continued to assault my nostrils.

"Please tell me just one little theory." His eyes still smoldered at me.

"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was he a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?

"That's not very creative," he scoffed.

"I'm sorry, that's all I've got," I said, miffed.

"You're not even close," he teased.

"No spiders?"

"Nope."

"And no radioactivity?"

"None."

"Damn," I sighed. 

"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," he chuckled.

"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?" I grinned, laughing with him. 

He struggled to compose his face.

"I'll figure it out eventually," I warned him.

"I wish you wouldn't try." He was serious again.

"Because… ?"

"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?" He smiled playfully, but his eyes were impenetrable.

"I see." It was the same for me. How would he view me if I told him the truth? If I told him what I was? 

"Do you?" His face was abruptly severe, as if he were afraid that he'd accidentally said too much.

"You're dangerous?" I guessed, my pulse quickening as I intuitively realized the truth of my own words. He was dangerous. He'd been trying to tell me that all along. I was dangerous too. But he was decent enough to tell me. I never said a word to him about how much danger he was actually in around me. My stomach lurched and my insides twisted again. 

He just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend.

"But not bad," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, I don't believe that you're bad." How could he be? He was willing to warn someone he thought was human that he could kill them. And that person returned that kindness with lies and deceit. 

"You're wrong." His voice was almost inaudible. He looked down, stealing my bottle lid and then spinning it on its side between his fingers. I stared at him, wondering why I didn't feel afraid. He meant what he was saying — that was obvious. But I just felt anxious, on edge… and, more than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was near him.

The silence lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

I jumped to my feet. "We're going to be late."

"I'm not going to class today," he said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.

"Why not?"

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." He smiled up at me, but his eyes were still troubled.

"Well, I'm going," I told him. I was far too big a coward to risk getting caught.

He turned his attention back to his makeshift top. "I'll see you later, then."

I hesitated, torn, but then the first bell sent me hurrying out the door — with a last glance confirming that he hadn't moved a centimeter.

As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised. 

I was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. I settled quickly into my seat, aware that both Mike and Angela were staring at me. Mike looked resentful; Angela looked surprised, and slightly awed. I caught very little of Mike’s thoughts; they were moving too fast and my own brain could barely comprehend my own thoughts, let alone someone else's. 

Mr. Banner came into the room then, calling the class to order. He was juggling a few small cardboard boxes in his arms. He put them down on Mike's table, telling him to start passing them around the class.

"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against his wrists was ominous. 

"The first should be an indicator card," he went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. 

"The second is a four-pronged applicator —" he held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick "— and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." 

He held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped.

"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you." He began at Mike's table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares. 

"Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet…" He grabbed Mike's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Mike's middle finger. Oh no. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead.

"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." He demonstrated, squeezing Mike's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively. The smell was warm and rusty, like a wet and rusty pipe on a rainy day. It made my mouth water and my body temperature began to climb. I should have definitely had a drink this morning. I should have skipped with Edward.

"And then apply it to the card," he finished, holding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing in my ears. Soon, everyone in class would be pricking their fingers, bleeding themselves onto papers. 

"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type." He sounded proud of himself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission — I have slips at my desk."

He continued through the room with his water drops. I put my cheek against the cool black tabletop and tried to hold on to my consciousness. All around me I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth as my body temp continued to rise. This was really bad. I needed out. 

"Beau, are you all right?" Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close to my head, and it sounded alarmed.

"I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner," I said in a weak voice. I was afraid to raise my head. What if I attacked someone? I would have to kill everyone in the room, and even then, I would still be doomed. 

"Are you feeling faint?"

"Yes, sir," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I had the chance. Edward had known hadn’t he? I should have just followed him when I had the chance. 

"Can someone take Beau to the nurse, please?" he called.

I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Mike who volunteered.

"Can you walk?" Mr. Banner asked.

"Yes," I whispered. _Just let me get out of here_ , I thought. _I'll crawl_.

Mike seemed eager as he put his arm around my waist and pulled my arm over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily on the way out of the classroom.

Mike towed me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mr. Banner was watching, I stopped.

"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I begged.

He helped me sit on the edge of the walk.

"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned. I was still so dizzy, and it was all made worse by the fact that I could smell Mike’s bleeding finger. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes. That seemed to help a little.

"Wow, you're green, Beau," Mike said nervously.

"Beau?" a different voice called from the distance.

_No! Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice._

"What's wrong — is he hurt?" His voice was closer now, and he sounded upset. I wasn't imagining it. I squeezed my eyes shut. I could barely control myself during lunch. If he came over and touched me —

Mike seemed stressed. "I think he's fainted. I don't know what happened, he didn't even stick his finger."

"Beau." Edward's voice was right beside me, relieved now. "Can you hear me?"

"No," I groaned. "Go away."

He chuckled.

"I was taking him to the nurse," Mike explained in a defensive tone, "but he wouldn't go any farther."

"I'll take him," Edward said. I could hear the smile still in his voice. "You can go back to class."

"No," Mike protested. "I'm supposed to do it."

Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in shock.

Edward had scooped me up in his arms, as easily as if I weighed ten pounds instead of a hundred and ten.

"Put me down!" Please, please. I was going to make him do things he would never forgive me for. He was walking before I was finished talking.

"Hey!" Mike called, already ten paces behind us.

Edward ignored him. "You look awful," he told me, grinning.

"Put me back on the sidewalk," I moaned. The rocking movement of his walk was not helping. My insides were on fire, and felt like someone was twisting multiple knives inside me. He held me away from his body, gingerly, supporting all my weight with just his arms — it didn't seem to bother him.

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" he asked. This seemed to entertain him.

I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the pain and heat with all my strength, clamping my lips together.

"And not even your own blood," he continued, enjoying himself.

I don't know how he opened the door while carrying me, but it was suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.

"Oh my," I heard a female voice gasp.

"He fainted in Biology," Edward explained.

I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Edward was striding past the front counter toward the nurse's door. Ms. Cope, the redheaded front office receptionist, ran ahead of him to hold it open. The grandmotherly nurse looked up from a novel, astonished, as Edward swung me into the room and placed me gently on the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then he moved to stand against the wall as far across the narrow room as possible. His eyes were bright, excited. Was that because of me? Was I already forcing him to feel certain ways about me? 

"He's just a little faint," he reassured the startled nurse. "They're blood typing in Biology."

The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."

He muffled a snicker.

"Just lie down for a minute, honey; it'll pass."

"I know," I sighed. The pain and light headed feeling was already fading.

"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I admitted. Edward coughed to hide another laugh.

"You can go back to class now," she told him.

"I'm supposed to stay with him." He said this with such assured authority that — even though she pursed her lips — the nurse didn't argue it further.

"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear," she said to me, and then bustled out of the room.

"You were right," I moaned, letting my eyes close.

"I usually am — but about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching is healthy." I practiced breathing evenly.

"You scared me for a minute there," he admitted after a pause. His tone made it sound like he was confessing a humiliating weakness. "I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."

"Haha." I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.

"Honestly — I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder."

"Poor Mike. I'll bet he's mad."

"He absolutely loathes me," Edward said cheerfully.

"You can't know that," I argued, but then I wondered suddenly if he could. I knew he did. 

"I saw his face — I could tell."

"How did you see me? I thought you were ditching." I was almost fine now, though the queasiness would probably pass faster if I'd eaten something for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.

"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Such a normal response — it surprised me.

I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in her hand.

"Here you go, dear." She laid it across my forehead. "You're looking better," she added.

"I think I'm fine," I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears, no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should.

I could see she was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened just then, and Ms. Cope stuck her head in.

"We've got another one," she warned.

I hopped down to free up the cot for the next invalid.

I handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."

And then Mike staggered through the door, now supporting a sallow-looking Lee Stephens, another boy in our Biology class. Edward and I drew back against the wall to give them room.

"Go out to the office, Beau."

I looked up at him, bewildered.

"Trust me — go."

I spun and caught the door before it closed, darting out of the infirmary. I could feel Edward right behind me.

"You actually listened to me." He was stunned.

"I smelled the blood," I said, wrinkling my nose. Lee wasn't sick from watching other people, like me.

"People can't smell blood," he contradicted. _Fuck._

"Well, I can. It smells like rust… and salt." And it’s utterly addicting, but I couldn’t say that. 

He was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.

"What?" I asked.

"It's nothing."

Mike came through the door then, glancing from me to Edward. The look he gave Edward confirmed what Edward had said about loathing. He looked back at me, his eyes glum.

"You look better," he accused.

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I warned him again.

"It's not bleeding anymore," he muttered. "Are you going back to class?" I scoffed. 

"Are you kidding? I'd just have to turn around and come back."

"Yeah, I guess… So are you going this weekend? To the beach?" While he spoke, he flashed another glare toward Edward, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.

I tried to sound as friendly as possible. "Sure, I said I was in."

"We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten." His eyes flickered to Edward again, wondering if he was giving out too much information. His body language made it clear that it wasn't an open invitation. 

"I'll be there," I promised.

"I'll see you in Gym, then," he said, moving uncertainly toward the door.

"See you," I replied. He looked at me once more, his round face slightly pouting, and then as he walked slowly through the door, his shoulders slumped. A swell of sympathy washed over me. I pondered seeing his disappointed face again… in Gym.

"Gym," I groaned.

"I can take care of that." I hadn't noticed Edward moving to my side, but he spoke now in my ear. Shiver ran up my spine at the feeling of his breath on my neck.

"Go sit down and look pale," he whispered.

That wasn't a challenge; I was always pale, and my recent swoon had left a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed. 

I heard Edward speaking softly at the counter.

"Ms. Cope?"

"Yes?" I hadn't heard her return to her desk.

"Beau has Gym next hour, and I don't think he feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take him home now. Do you think you could excuse him from class?"

His voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming his eyes would be.

"Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?" Ms. Cope fluttered. Why couldn't I do that?

"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind."

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Beau," she called to me. I nodded weakly, hamming it up just a bit.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" With his back to the receptionist, his expression became sarcastic.

"I'll walk." Even though him carrying me seemed like a more attractive option. 

I stood carefully, and I was still fine. He held the door for me, his smile polite but his eyes mocking. I walked out into the cold, fine mist that had just begun to fall. It felt nice — the first time I'd enjoyed the constant moisture falling out of the sky — as it washed my face clean of the sticky perspiration.

"Thanks," I said as he followed me out. "It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym."

"Anytime." He was staring straight forward, squinting into the rain.

"So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?" I was hoping he would, though it seemed unlikely. I couldn't picture him loading up to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; he didn't belong in the same world. But just hoping that he might gave me the first twinge of enthusiasm I'd felt for the outing. It wouldn't feel like the same old boring routine that I'd been repeating my entire life. 

"Where are you all going, exactly?" He was still looking ahead, expressionless.

"Down to La Push, to First Beach." I studied his face, trying to read it. His eyes seemed to narrow infinitesimally.

He glanced down at me from the corner of his eye, smiling wryly. "I really don't think I was invited."

I sighed. "I just invited you."

"Let's not push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want him to snap."

His eyes danced; he was enjoying the idea more than he should. I had to admit, it did sound rather entertaining.

"Mike-schmike." I giggled, preoccupied by the way he'd said "Let’s." There was an implied us, and I liked it more than I should. I was acting like a stupid girl. 

We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck. Something caught my jacket, yanking me back.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, outraged. He was gripping a fistful of my jacket in one hand.

I was confused. "I'm going home."

"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" His voice was still indignant.

"What condition? And what about my truck?" I complained.

"I'll have Alice drop it off after school." He was towing me toward his car now, pulling me by my jacket. It was all I could do to keep from falling backward. He'd probably just drag me along anyway if I did.

"Let go!" I insisted. He ignored me. I staggered along sideways across the wet sidewalk until we reached the Volvo. Then he finally freed me — I stumbled against the passenger door.

"You are so pushy... " I grumbled.

"It's open," was all he responded. He got in the driver's side.

"I am perfectly capable of driving myself home." I stood by the car, fuming. It was raining harder now, and I'd never put my hood up, so my hair was dripping down my back.

He lowered the automatic window and leaned toward me across the seat. "Beau, get in the car."

I didn't answer. I was mentally calculating my chances of reaching the truck before he could catch me. I had to admit, they weren't good.

"I'll just drag you back," he threatened, guessing my plan.

I tried to maintain what dignity I could as I got into his car. I wasn't very successful — I looked like a half-drowned cat and my boots squeaked.

"This is completely unnecessary," I said stiffly.

He didn't answer. He fiddled with the controls, turning the heater up and the music down. As he pulled out of the parking lot, I was preparing to give him the silent treatment — my face in full pout mode — but then I recognized the music playing, and my curiosity got the better of my intentions.

"Clair deLune?" I asked, surprised.

"You know Debussy?" He sounded surprised, too.

"Not well," I admitted. "My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house — I only know my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too." He stared out through the rain, lost in thought.

I listened to the music, relaxing against the light gray leather seat. It was impossible not to respond to the familiar, soothing melody. The rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. I began to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so steadily, so evenly, though, I didn't feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.

"What is your mother like?" he asked me suddenly.

I glanced over to see him studying me with curious eyes.

"She looks a lot like me, but she's prettier," I said. He raised his eyebrows. "I have too much Charlie in me. She's more outgoing than I am, and braver. She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend." I stopped.

Talking about her was making me depressed.

"How old are you, Beau?" His voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn't imagine. He'd stopped the car, and I realized we were at the house already. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see the house at all. It was like the car was submerged under a river.

"I'm seventeen," I responded. _Give or take a few decades._

"You don't seem seventeen." His tone was reproachful; it made me laugh. He was definitely good at reading people, but he was so unconfident. 

"What?" he asked, curious again.

"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." I laughed, and then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself," I noted.

He made a face and changed the subject.

"So why did your mother marry Phil?"

I was surprised he would remember the name; I'd mentioned it just once, almost two months ago. How much more did he actually remember that he wasn’t saying? Was he onto me like I was onto him? Did he know I wasn’t human? 

"My mother… She's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him." I shook my head. The attraction was somewhat a mystery to me.

"Do you approve?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" I countered. "I want her to be happy… and he is who she wants."

"That's very generous… I wonder," he mused.

"What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" He was suddenly intent, his eyes searching mine.

"I think so, but she's the parent, after all. It's a little bit different," I lied. She would never approve of anyone. No one was good enough for her Beauy. 

"No one too scary then," he teased.

I grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?" How would he react to my tattoos? 

"That's one definition, I suppose."

"What's your definition?" 

He ignored my question and asked me another. "Do you think that I could be scary?" He raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile lightened his face.

I thought for a moment, wondering whether the truth or a lie would go over better. I decided to go with the truth. "I think you could be, if you wanted to."

"Are you frightened of me now?" The smile vanished, and his heavenly face was suddenly serious.

I leaned over and pecked him on the cheek, quickly receding back into my seat. I was definitely acting like a girl with her first ever crush, and it was absolutely embarrassing. 

"No." I answered. The smile returned, brighter and warmer than before.

"So, now are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked to distract him. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine." I needed to distract myself too. 

He was instantly cautious. "What do you want to know?"

"The Cullens adopted you?" I verified.

"Yes."

I hesitated for a moment. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died many years ago." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry," I said. My parents dying would absolutely kill me. He must not have remembered his own parents too well if their deaths didn't bother him. 

"I don't really remember them that clearly. Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now." Bingo. 

"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way he spoke of them.

"Yes." He smiled. "I couldn't imagine two better people."

"You're very lucky."

"I know I am."

"And your brother and sister?"

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

"My brother and sister, and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go." I didn't want to get out of the car.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology incident." He grinned at me.

"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks." I sighed.

He laughed, and there was an edge to his laughter.

"Have fun at the beach… good weather for sunbathing." He glanced out at the sheeting rain.

"Won't I see you tomorrow?"

"No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early."

"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? I hoped the disappointment wasn't too apparent in my voice.

"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier."

I remembered Charlie had said the Cullens went camping frequently.

"Oh, well, have fun." I tried to sound enthusiastic. I don't think I fooled him, though. A smile was playing around the edges of his lips.

"Will you do something for me this weekend?" He turned to look me straight in the face, utilizing the full power of his burning gold eyes.

I nodded helplessly.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So… try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?"

He smiled crookedly.

The helplessness had faded as he spoke. I smirked at him.

"I'll see what I can do," I purred as I slinked out into the rain. I shut the door behind me with excessive force and jumped.

He was still smiling as he drove away.


	11. Blood Type (Edward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brand new chapter for you guys. I may be able to get chapters out a lot quicker in the next few weeks, but who knows. 
> 
> I'm still trying to tackle the rewriting I have to do for the next couple of chapters.

I followed him all day through other people’s eyes, barely aware of my own surroundings.

Not Mike Newton’s eyes, because I couldn’t stand any more of his offensive fantasies, and not Jessica Stanley’s, because her resentment toward Beau was irritating. Angela Weber was a good choice when her eyes were available. She was kind—her head was an easy place to be. And then sometimes it was the teachers who provided the best view.

I was surprised, watching Beau stumble through the day—tripping over cracks in the sidewalk, stray books, and, most often, his own feet—that the people I eavesdropped on thought of him as clumsy.

I considered that. It was true that he often had trouble staying upright. I remembered him stumbling into the desk that first day, sliding around on the ice before the accident, staggering against the low lip of the doorframe yesterday. How odd—they were right. He was clumsy.

I didn’t know why this was so funny to me, but I laughed out loud as I walked from American History to English and several people shot me wary glances, then looked away quickly from my exposed teeth. How had I never noticed this before? Perhaps because there was something very graceful about him in stillness, the way he held his head, the arch of his neck…

There was nothing graceful about him now. Mr. Varner watched as he caught the toe of his boot on the carpet and literally fell into his chair.

I laughed again.

The time moved with incredible sluggishness while I waited for my chance to see him with my own eyes. Finally, the bell rang. I strode quickly to the cafeteria to secure my spot. I was one of the first in the room. I chose a table that was usually empty, and was sure to remain that way with me seated here.

When my family entered and saw me sitting alone in a new place, they were not surprised. Alice must have warned them.

Rosalie stalked past me without a glance.

_ Idiot. _

Rosalie and I had never had an easy relationship—I’d offended her the very first time she’d heard me speak, and it was downhill from that point on—but it seemed as though she was even more ill-tempered than usual the last few days. I sighed. Rosalie made everything about herself.

Jasper gave me half a smile as he walked by.

_ Good luck, _ he thought doubtfully.

Emmett rolled his eyes and shook his head.

_ Lost his mind, poor kid. _

Alice was beaming, her teeth shining too brightly.

_ Can I talk to Beau now?? _

“Keep out of it,” I said under my breath.

Her face fell, and then brightened again.

_ Fine. Be stubborn. It’s only a matter of time. _

I sighed again.

_ Don’t forget about today’s Biology lab _ , she reminded me.

I nodded. It irked me that Mr. Banner had made these plans. I’d wasted so many hours in Biology, sitting next to him while pretending to ignore him; it was painfully ironic to me that I would miss that hour with him today.

While I waited for Beau to arrive, I followed him in the eyes of the freshman who was walking behind Jessica on his way to the cafeteria. Jessica was babbling about the upcoming dance, but Beau said nothing in response. Not that Jessica gave him much of a chance.

The moment Beau walked through the door, his eyes flashed to the table where my siblings sat. He stared for a moment, and then his forehead crumpled and his eyes dropped to the floor. He hadn’t noticed me here.

He looked so… sad. I felt a powerful urge to get up and go to his side, to comfort him somehow, only I didn’t know what he would find comforting. Jessica continued to jabber about the dance. Was Beau upset that he was going to miss it? That didn’t seem likely.

But if that were true… I wished I could offer him that option. Impossible. The physical proximity required by a dance would be too dangerous.

He bought a drink for his lunch and nothing else. Was that right? Didn’t he need more nutrition? I’d never paid much attention to a human’s diet before.

Humans were quite exasperatingly fragile! There were a million different things to worry about.

“Edward Cullen is staring at you again,” I heard Jessica say. “I wonder why he’s sitting alone today.”

I was grateful to Jessica—though she was even more resentful now—because Beau’s head snapped up and his eyes searched until they met mine.

There was no trace of sadness in his face now. I let myself hope that he’d felt unhappy because he’d thought I’d left school early, and that hope made me smile.

I motioned with my finger for him to join me. He looked so startled by this that I wanted to tease him again. So I winked, and his mouth fell open.

“Does he mean you?” Jessica asked rudely.

“Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework,” he said in a low, dismissive voice. “Um, I’d better go see what he wants.”

This was almost another yes.

He stumbled twice on his way to my table, though there was nothing in his way but perfectly even linoleum. Seriously, how had I missed this? I’d been paying more attention to his silent thoughts, I supposed. What else had I not seen?

He was almost to my new table. I tried to prepare myself.  _ Keep it honest, keep it light, _ I chanted silently.

He stopped behind the chair across from me, hesitating. I inhaled deeply, through my nose this time rather than my mouth.

_ Feel the burn, _ I thought dryly.

“Won’t you sit with me today?” I asked him.

He pulled the chair out and slowly sat, staring at me the whole while. I watched as he crossed one leg over the other before gingerly resting his arm on the table. I stared at him. 

So often he became a completely different person in these moments. Was he truly as clumsy as I was thinking? Or did he put that on for others benefit? Why would a human do such a thing? 

It took a moment, but finally he said, “This is different.” A small smirk tugged at his lips. 

“Well…” I hesitated. “I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.”

What had made me say that? I supposed it was honest, at least. And perhaps he’d hear the unsubtle warning my words implied. Maybe he would realize that he should get up and walk away as quickly as possible.

He didn’t get up. Instead, he laughed that laugh that I wished I could hear the rest of my unlife. 

“You might as well. After all, what’s life without indulging in a few pleasures, am I right?,” he said.

I smiled. "I’ll have to agree with you on that one." His humor was always so refreshing. Were all humans as funny as him, or was he unique in that fact as well? 

It was hard to ignore the thoughts screaming at me from behind his back—and I wanted to change the subject anyway.

“I think your friends are angry at me for stealing you.”

This did not appear to concern him. “They’ll survive.” His head tilted ever so slightly to the side. 

“I may not give you back, though.” I didn’t even know if I was trying to tease him again, or just being honest now. Being near him jumbled all my thoughts, and made my body go haywire in ways I never thought possible.

Beau swallowed loudly.

I laughed at his expression. “You look worried.” It really shouldn’t be funny. He should worry.

“No.” I knew this must be a lie; his voice broke, betraying his fraud. “Surprised, actually.… What brought all this on?”

“I told you,” I reminded him. “I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I’m giving up.” I held my smile in place with a bit of effort. This wasn’t working at all—trying to be honest and casual at the same time.

“Giving up?” he repeated, a certain seductive quality being added to his voice. I balled up my hand underneath the table.  _ Think old grandmas, right? Old grandmas, old grandmas... _

“Yes—giving up trying to be good.” And, apparently, giving up trying to be casual. “I’m just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may.” That was honest enough. Let him see my selfishness. Let that warn him, too.

"That sounds like a solid plan to me." I was acutely more aware of his movements. He shifted his legs around, uncrossing and recrossing them. I could hear his thighs press and squeeze together. I clenched my fist tighter.  _ Old grandmas, Edward. _

I couldn’t help but grin. He was anything but reasonable. How could I think he’d see my words as a warning? They were nothing but a fun joke. I was selfish enough to be glad that this was the case. 

“I always say too much when I’m talking to you—that’s one of the problems.” A rather insignificant problem, compared to the rest.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured me. “I don’t understand any of it.”

Good. Then he’d stay. “I’m counting on that.”

“So, in plain English, are we friends now?” He bit his lip, and my brain supplied images of him pinned to the table underneath me as my teeth dug into the flesh of his lip. 

_ What are you thinking about, Eddie boy?  _ Jasper’s thoughts threw me off balance. In my own head, I had forgotten there was one person who had abilities close enough to mine that he could at least tell how I was reacting. Even my own head was no longer secret and safe. 

I pondered Beau’s words for a second. “Friends…,” I repeated. I didn’t like the sound of that. It wasn’t… enough.

I could see the smirk on Jasper’s face from across the room.  _ Oh, I see now.  _ I really wished the bastard would stick to paying attention to someone else. 

“Or not,” Beau mumbled. 

Did he think I didn’t like him that much? Was everything up until then meaningless, as I had originally assumed?

I smiled. “Well, we can try, I suppose. But I’m warning you now that I’m not a good friend for you.”

I waited for his response, torn in two—wishing he would finally hear and understand, thinking I might die if he did. How melodramatic.

His heart beat faster. “You say that a lot.”

“Yes, because you’re not listening to me,” I said, too intense again. “I’m still waiting for you to believe it. If you’re smart, you’ll avoid me.”

I could only guess at the pain I would feel when he understood enough to make the right choice.

His eyes tightened. “I think you’ve made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too.”

“I should probably apologize for that.” I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant, but I smiled in apology, guessing that I must have accidentally offended him.

“Not that it’s entirely untrue but, still rude nonetheless.” 

“So,” he said slowly. “As long as I’m being… not smart, we’ll try to be friends?”

“That sounds about right.”

He looked down, staring intently at the lemonade bottle in his hands.

The old curiosity tormented me.

“What are you thinking?” I asked. It was an immense relief to say the words out loud at last. I couldn’t remember how it felt to need oxygen in my lungs, but I wondered if the relief of inhaling had been a little like this.

He met my gaze, and his breathing sped while his cheeks flushed faint pink. I inhaled, tasting that in the air.

“I’m trying to figure out what you are.”

I held the smile on my face, locking my features, while panic twisted through my body.

Of course he was wondering that. He had a bright mind. I couldn’t hope for him to be oblivious to something so obvious.

“Are you having any luck with that?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could manage.

“Not too much,” he admitted.

I chuckled with sudden relief. “What are your theories?”

They couldn’t be worse than the truth, no matter what he’d come up with.

His cheeks turned bright red, and he said nothing. I could feel the warmth of his blush, and was reminded of just how much warmer he felt up close.  _ Remember, old grandmas.  _ Jasper snickered. 

I would try my persuasive tone. It worked well on normal humans.

I smiled encouragingly. “Won’t you tell me?”

He shook his head. “Too embarrassing.”

Ugh. Not knowing was worse than anything else. Why would his speculations embarrass him?

“That’s really frustrating, you know.”

My complaint sparked something in him. His eyes flashed and his words flowed more swiftly than usual.

“No, I can’t imagine why that would be frustrating at all—just because someone refuses to tell you what they’re thinking, even if all the while they’re making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean… Now, why would that be frustrating?”

I frowned at him, upset to realize that he was right. I wasn’t being fair. He couldn’t know the loyalties and limitations that tied my tongue, but that didn’t change the disparity as he saw it.

He went on. “Or better, say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things—from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that, either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating.”

It was the longest speech I’d ever heard him make, and it gave me a new quality for my list.

“You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?” 

“I don’t like double standards.”

He was completely justified in his irritation, of course.

I stared at Beau, wondering how I could possibly do anything right by him, until the silent shouting in Mike Newton’s head distracted me. He was so irate, so immaturely vulgar, that it made me chuckle again.

“What?” he demanded.

“Your boyfriend seems to think I’m being unpleasant to you—he’s debating whether or not to come break up our fight.” I would love to see him try. I laughed again.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he said in an icy voice. “But I’m sure you’re wrong, anyway.”

I very much enjoyed the way he disowned him with one indifferent sentence.

“I’m not. I told you, most people are easy to read.”

“Except me, of course.” His smirk was back on his face. Was that his default now? 

“Yes. Except for you.” Did he have to be the exception to everything? “I wonder why that is?”

I stared into his eyes, trying again.

He looked away, then opened his lemonade and took a quick drink, his eyes on the table.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I asked.

“No.” He eyed the empty space between us. “You?”

“No, I’m not hungry,” I said. I was definitely not that.

He stared down, his lips pursed. I waited.

“Can you do me a favor?” he asked, suddenly meeting my gaze again.

What would he want from me? Would he ask for the truth that I wasn’t allowed to tell him—the truth I didn’t want him to ever, ever know?

“That depends on what you want.”

“It’s not much,” he promised.

I waited, curiosity flaring excruciatingly, as usual.

“I just wondered…,” he said slowly, staring at the lemonade bottle, tracing its lip with his littlest finger, “if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good? Just so I’m prepared.”

He wanted a warning? Then being ignored by me must be a bad thing. I smiled.

“That sounds fair,” I agreed.

“Thanks,” he said, looking up. His face was so relieved that I wanted to laugh with my own relief.

“Then can I have one in return?” I asked hopefully.

“One,” he allowed.

“Tell me one theory.”

He flushed. “Not that one.”

“You didn’t qualify, you just promised one answer,” I argued. 

“And you’ve broken promises yourself,” he argued back. Another smirk spread across his lips. 

He had me there.

“Just one theory—I won’t laugh.”

“Yes, you will.” He seemed very sure of that, though I couldn’t imagine anything that would be funny about it.

I gave persuasion another try. I stared into his eyes—an easy thing to do with eyes so deep—and whispered, “Please?”

He blinked, and his face went totally blank.

Well, that wasn’t exactly the reaction I’d been going for.

“Er, what?” he asked a second later. He looked disoriented. Was something wrong with him?

I tried again.

“Please tell me just one little theory,” I pleaded in my soft, non-scary voice, holding his gaze in mine.

To my surprise and satisfaction, it finally worked. He seemed to subconsciously tuck a loose piece of hair behind his ear before answering. 

“Um, well... bitten by a radioactive spider?”

Comic books? No wonder he thought I would laugh.

“That’s not very creative,” I chided him, trying to hide my fresh relief.

“I’m sorry, that’s all I’ve got,” he said, offended.

This relieved me even more. I was able to tease him again.

“You’re not even close.”

“No spiders?”

“Nope.”

“And no radioactivity?”

“None.”

“Damn,” he sighed. 

“Kryptonite doesn’t bother me, either,” I said quickly—before he could ask about bites—and then I had to chuckle, because he thought I was a superhero.

“You’re not supposed to laugh, remember?” His musical laughter filled the air. 

I pressed my lips together, in the vaguest attempt of calming my own laughter. 

“I’ll figure it out eventually,” he promised.

And when he did, he would run.

“I wish you wouldn’t try,” I said, all teasing gone.

“Because…?”

I owed him honesty. Still, I tried to smile, to make my words sound less threatening. “What if I’m not a superhero? What if I’m the bad guy?”

His eyes widened by a fraction and his lips fell slightly apart. “I see.” His eyes were slightly clouded, and his stare was distant.

He’d finally heard me.

“Do you?” I asked, working to conceal my agony.

“You’re dangerous?” he guessed. His breathing hiked, and his heart raced.

I couldn’t answer him. Was this my last moment with him? Would he run now? Could I be allowed to tell him that I loved him before he left? Or would that frighten him more?

“But not bad,” he whispered, shaking his head, no fear evident in his clear eyes. “No, I don’t believe that you’re bad.”

“You’re wrong,” I breathed.

Of course I was bad. Wasn’t I rejoicing now, finding he thought better of me than I deserved? If I were a good person, I would have stayed away from him.

I stretched my hand across the table, reaching for the lid to his lemonade bottle as an excuse. He did not flinch away from my suddenly closer hand. He really was not afraid of me. Not yet.

I spun the lid like a top, watching it instead of him. My thoughts were in a snarl.

_ Run, Beau, run. _ I couldn’t make myself say the words out loud.

He jumped to his feet. Just as I started to worry that he’d somehow heard my silent warning, he said, “We’re going to be late.”

“I’m not going to class today.”

“Why not?”

Because I don’t want to kill you.“It’s healthy to ditch class now and then.”

To be precise, it was healthier for the humans if the vampires ditched on days when human blood would be spilled. Mr. Banner was blood typing today. Alice had already ditched her morning class.

“Well, I’m going,” he said. This didn’t surprise me. He was responsible—he always did the right thing.

He was my opposite.

“I’ll see you later, then,” I said, trying for casual again, staring down at the whirling lid. Please save yourself. Please never leave me.

He hesitated, and I hoped for a moment that he would stay with me after all. But the bell rang and he hurried away.

I waited until he was gone, and then I put the lid in my pocket—a souvenir of this most consequential conversation—and walked through the rain to my car.

I put on my favorite calming CD—the same one I’d listened to that first day—but I wasn’t hearing Debussy’s notes for long. Other notes were running through my head, a fragment of a tune that pleased and intrigued me. I turned down the stereo and listened to the music in my head, playing with the fragment until it evolved into a fuller harmony. Automatically, my fingers moved in the air over imaginary piano keys.

The new composition was really coming along when my attention was caught by a wave of mental anguish.

_ Is he going to pass out? What do I do? _ Mike panicked.

A hundred yards away, Mike Newton was lowering Beau’s limp body to the sidewalk. He slumped unresponsively against the wet concrete, his eyes closed, his skin chalky as a corpse.

I nearly took the door off the car.

“Beau?” I shouted.

There was no change in his lifeless face when I yelled his name.

My whole body went colder than ice. This was like a confirmation of every ludicrous scenario I’d imagined. The very moment he was out of my sight…

I was aware of Mike’s aggravated surprise as I sifted furiously through his thoughts. He was only thinking of his anger toward me, so I didn’t know what was wrong with Beau. If he’d done something to harm him, I would annihilate him. Not even the tiniest fragment of his body would ever be recovered.

“What’s wrong—is he hurt?” I demanded, trying to focus his thoughts. It was maddening to have to walk at a human pace. I should not have called attention to my approach.

Then I could hear his heart beating and his even breath. As I watched, he squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. That eased some of my panic.

I saw a flicker of memories in Mike’s head, a splash of images from the Biology room. Beau’s head on our table, his fair skin turning green. Drops of red against the white cards.

Blood typing.

I stopped where I was, holding my breath. His scent was one thing, his flowing blood was another altogether.

“I think he’s fainted,” Mike said, anxious and resentful at the same time. “I don’t know what happened. He didn’t even stick his finger.”

Relief washed through me, and I breathed again, tasting the air. Ah, I could smell the tiny bleed of Mike Newton’s puncture wound. Once, that might have appealed to me.

I knelt beside him while Mike hovered next to me, furious at my intervention.

“Beau. Can you hear me?”

“No,” he moaned. “Go away.”

The relief was so exquisite that I laughed. He wasn’t in danger.

“I was taking him to the nurse,” Mike said. “But he wouldn’t go any farther.”

“I’ll take him. You can go back to class,” I said dismissively.

Mike’s teeth clenched together. “No. I’m supposed to do it.”

I wasn’t going to stand around arguing with the moron.

Thrilled and terrified, half-grateful to and half-aggrieved by the predicament that made touching him a necessity, I gently lifted Beau from the sidewalk and held him in my arms, touching only his rain jacket and jeans, keeping as much distance between our bodies as possible. I was striding forward in the same movement, in a hurry to have him safe—farther away from me, in other words. I could still feel his overwhelming body heat through our clothing. 

His eyes popped open, astonished.

“Put me down,” he ordered in a weak voice—embarrassed again, I guessed from his expression. He didn’t like to show weakness. But his body was so limp I doubted he would be able to stand on his own, let alone walk.

I ignored Mike’s shouted protest behind us.

“You look awful,” I told him, unable to stop grinning, because there was nothing wrong with him but a light head and a weak stomach.

“Put me back on the sidewalk,” he said. His lips were white. But his body heat radiated off him like it had last night on his porch. Maybe he was sick. 

“So you faint at the sight of blood?” A twisted kind of irony.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.

“And not even your own blood,” I added, my grin widening.

We arrived at the front office. The door was propped open an inch, and I kicked it out of my way.

Ms. Cope jumped, startled. “Oh my,” she gasped as she examined the ashen boy in my arms.

“He fainted in Biology,” I explained, before her imagination could get too out of hand.

Ms. Cope hurried to get the door to the nurse’s office. Beau’s eyes were open again, watching her. I heard the elderly nurse’s internal astonishment as I laid the boy carefully on the one shabby bed. As soon as Beau was out of my arms, I put the width of the room between us. My body was too excited, too eager, my muscles tense and the venom flowing. He was so warm and fragrant.

“He’s just a little faint,” I reassured Mrs. Hammond. “They’re blood typing in Biology.”

She nodded, understanding now. “There’s always one.”

I stifled a laugh. Trust Beau to be that one.

“Just lie down for a minute, honey,” Mrs. Hammond said. “It’ll pass.”

“I know,” Beau said.

“Does this happen a lot?” the nurse asked.

“Sometimes,” Beau admitted.

I tried to disguise my laughter as coughing.

This brought me to the nurse’s attention. “You can go back to class now,” she said.

I looked her straight in the eye and lied with perfect confidence. “I’m supposed to stay with him.”

_ Hmm. I wonder.… Oh well. _ Mrs. Hammond nodded.

It worked just fine on the nurse. Why did Beau have to be so difficult?

“I’ll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear,” the nurse said, slightly uncomfortable from looking into my eyes—the way a human should be—and left the room.

“You were right,” Beau moaned, closing his eyes.

What did he mean? I jumped to the worst conclusion: He’d accepted my warnings.

“I usually am,” I said, trying to keep the amusement in my voice; it sounded sour now. “But about what in particular this time?”

“Ditching is healthy,” he sighed.

Ah, relief again.

He was silent then. He just breathed slowly in and out. His lips were beginning to turn pink. His mouth was slightly out of balance, his upper lip just a little too full to match the lower. Staring at his mouth made me feel strange. Made me want to move closer to his, which was not a good idea.  _ Old grandmas.  _

“You scared me for a minute there,” I said, trying to restart the conversation. The quiet was painful in an odd way, leaving me alone without his voice. “I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods.”

“Ha ha,” he responded. He tried to compose his face, but I knew he thought it was funny. 

“Honestly — I’ve seen corpses with better color.” This was actually true. “I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder.” And I would have.

“Poor Mike,” he sighed. “I’ll bet he’s mad.”

Fury pulsed through me, but I contained it quickly. His concern was surely just pity. He was kind. That was all.

“He absolutely loathes me,” I told him, cheered by that idea.

“You can’t know that.”

“I saw his face — I could tell.” It was probably true that reading his face would have given me enough information to make that particular deduction. All this practice with Beau was sharpening my skill.

“How did you see me? I thought you were ditching.” His face looked better — the green undertone had vanished from his translucent skin.

“I was in my car, listening to a CD.”

His mouth twitched, like my very ordinary answer had surprised his somehow.

He opened his eyes again when Mrs. Hammond returned with an ice pack.

“Here you go, dear,” the nurse said as she laid it across Beau’s forehead. “You’re looking better.”

“I think I’m fine,” Beau said, and he sat up while pulling the ice pack away. Of course. He didn’t like to be taken care of.

Mrs. Hammond’s wrinkled hands fluttered toward the boy, as if she were going to push him back down, but just then Ms. Cope opened the door to the office and leaned in. With her appearance came the smell of fresh blood, just a whiff.

Invisible in the office behind her, Mike Newton was still very angry, wishing the heavy boy he dragged now was the boy who was in here with me.

“We’ve got another one,” Ms. Cope said.

Beau quickly jumped down from the cot, eager to be out of the spotlight.

“Here,” he said, handing the compress back to Mrs. Hammond. “I don’t need this.”

Mike grunted as he half-shoved Lee Stephens through the door. Blood was still dripping down the hand Lee held to his face, trickling toward his wrist.

“Oh no.” This was my cue to leave—and Beau’s, too, it seemed. “Go out to the office, Beau.”

He stared up at me, surprised.

“Trust me—go.”

He whirled and caught the door before it swung shut, rushing through to the office. I followed a few inches behind him. His swinging hair brushed my hand.

He turned to look at me, still unsure.

“You actually listened to me.” That was a first.

His small nose wrinkled. “I smelled the blood.”

I stared at him in blank surprise. “People can’t smell blood.”

“Well, I can. It smells like rust… and salt.”

My face froze, still staring.

Was he really even human? He looked human. He felt soft as a human. He smelled human—well, better actually. He acted human… sort of. But he didn’t think like a human, or respond like one.

What other option was there, though?

“What?” he demanded.

“It’s nothing.”

Mike Newton interrupted us then, entering the room with resentful, violent thoughts.

“You look better,” he said to Beau rudely.

My hand twitched, wanting to teach him some manners. I would have to watch myself, or I would end up actually killing this obnoxious boy.

“Just keep your hand in your pocket,” he said. For one wild second, I thought he was talking to me.

“It’s not bleeding anymore,” he answered sullenly. “Are you going back to class?”

“Are you kidding? I’d just have to turn around and come back.”

That was very good. I’d thought I was going to have to miss this whole hour with him, and now I got extra time instead. A gift I obviously did not deserve.

“Yeah, I guess…,” Mike mumbled. “So are you going this weekend? To the beach?”

What was this? They had plans. Anger froze me in place. It was a group trip, though. Mike was sorting through the other invitees in his head, counting places. It wasn’t just the two of them. That didn’t help my fury. I leaned motionlessly against the counter, controlling my response.

“Sure, I said I was in,” he promised him.

So he’d said yes to him, too. The jealousy burned, more painful than thirst.

“We’re meeting at my dad’s store, at ten.” _ And Cullen’s NOT invited _ .

“I’ll be there,” he said.

“I’ll see you in Gym, then.”

“See you,” he replied.

He shuffled off to his class, his thoughts full of ire.  _ What does he see in that freak? Sure, he’s rich, I guess. Girls think he’s hot, but I don’t see that. Too… too perfect. I bet his dad experiments with plastic surgery on all of them. That’s why they’re all so white and pretty. It’s not natural. And he’s sort of… scary-looking. Sometimes, when he stares at me, I’d swear he’s thinking about killing me. Freak. _

Mike wasn’t entirely unperceptive.

“Gym,” Beau repeated quietly. A groan.

I looked at him and saw that he was unhappy about something again. I wasn’t sure why, but it was clear that he didn’t want to go to his next class with Mike, and I was all for that plan.

I went to his side and bent close to his face, feeling the warmth of his skin radiating out to my lips. I didn’t dare breathe.

“I can take care of that,” I whispered. “Go sit down and look pale.”

He did as I asked, sitting in one of the folding chairs and leaning his head back against the wall, while behind me, Ms. Cope came out of the back room and went to her desk. With his eyes closed, Beau looked as if he’d passed out again. His full color hadn’t come back yet.

I turned to the receptionist.  _ Hopefully, Beau was paying attention to this, _ I thought sardonically.  _ This was how a human was supposed to respond. _

“Ms. Cope?” I asked, using my persuasive voice again.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and her heart sped up.  _ Get ahold of yourself!  _ “Yes?”

That was interesting. When Shelly Cope’s pulse quickened, it was because she found me physically attractive, not because she was frightened. I was used to that around human females, those who’d grown somewhat acclimatized to my kind through continued exposure… yet I hadn’t considered that explanation for Beau’s racing heart. 

I liked that thought, perhaps too much. I smiled my careful, human-soothing smile, and Ms. Cope’s breathing got louder.

“Beau has Gym next hour, and I don’t think he feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take him home now. Do you think you could excuse him from class?” I stared into her depthless eyes, enjoying the havoc that this wreaked on her thought processes. Was it possible that Beau…?

Ms. Cope had to swallow loudly before she answered. “Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?”

“No, I have Mrs. Goff. She won’t mind.”

I wasn’t paying much attention to her now. I was exploring this new possibility.

Hmm. I would have liked to believe that Beau found me attractive like other humans did, but when did Beau ever have the same reactions as other humans? I shouldn’t get my hopes up. But it did explain the events of last night just a bit better. 

“Okay, it’s all taken care of. You feel better, Beau.”

Beau nodded weakly—overacting a bit.

“Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?” I asked, amused by his poor theatrics. I knew he would want to walk—he wouldn’t want to be weak.

“I’ll walk,” he said.

Right again.

He got up, hesitating for a moment as if to check his balance. I held the door for him, and we walked out into the rain.

I watched him as he lifted his face to the light rain with his eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips. What was he thinking? Something about this action seemed off, and I quickly realized why the posture looked unfamiliar to me. 

With his features, I compared him to the females I interacted with far more than I compared him to males he should be grouped in with. His enjoyment at feeling the rain on his face made me realize just how much I compared him to a girl. 

The girls here wore makeup, covering all the natural flaws and beauty that could be found, making their skin appear to be flawless and smooth, even if just from a distance. Beau, however, did not wear makeup. His skin was bare, natural and out in the open. 

No girl here would ever let the rain wash away their masks. Beau had no such qualms. Would he look even more femine with a little bit of makeup? Would that be something he would even consider doing?

“Thanks,” he said, smiling at me now. “It’s almost worth getting sick to miss Gym.”

I stared across the campus, wondering how to prolong my time with him. “Anytime,” I said.

“So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?” He sounded hopeful.

Ah, his hope eased the sting of my jealousy. He wanted me with him, not Mike Newton. And I wanted to say yes. But there were many things to consider. For one, the sun would be shining this Saturday.

“Where are you all going, exactly?” I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, as if the answer didn’t matter much. Mike had said beach, though. Not much chance of avoiding sunlight there. Emmett would be irritated if I canceled our plans, but that wouldn’t stop me if there was any way to spend the time with him.

“Down to La Push, to First Beach.”

It was impossible, then.

I managed my disappointment, then glanced down at him, smiling wryly. “I really don’t think I was invited.”

He sighed, already resigned. “I just invited you.”

“Let’s not push poor Mike any further this week. We don’t want him to snap.” I thought about snapping poor Mike myself, and enjoyed the mental picture intensely.

“Mike-schmike,” he said with a giggle. I smiled.

And then he started to walk away from me.

Without thinking about my action, I automatically reached out and caught him by the back of his rain jacket. He jerked to a stop.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I was upset—almost angry that he was leaving. I hadn’t had enough time with him.

“I’m going home,” he said, clearly baffled as to why this should upset me.

“Didn’t you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I’m going to let you drive in your condition?” I knew he wouldn’t like that—my implication of weakness on his part. But I needed to practice for the Seattle trip—to see if I could handle his proximity in an enclosed space. This was a much shorter journey.

“What condition?” he demanded. “And what about my truck?”

“I’ll have Alice drop it off after school.” I pulled him back toward my car carefully. Apparently, walking forward was challenging enough for him.

“Let go!” he said, twisting sideways and nearly tripping. I held one hand out to catch him, but he righted himself before it was necessary. I shouldn’t be looking for excuses to touch him. That started me thinking again about Ms. Cope’s reaction to me, but I filed it away for later. There was much to be considered on that front.

I let him go as he asked, and then regretted it—he immediately tripped and stumbled into the passenger door of my car. I would have to be even more careful, to take into account his poor balance.

“You are so pushy!”

He was right. My behavior was odd, and that was the kindest description. Would he tell me no now?

“It’s open.”

I got in on my side and started the car. He held his body rigidly, still outside, though the rain had picked up and I knew he didn’t like the cold and wet. Water was soaking through his thick hair, darkening it to near-black.

“I am perfectly capable of driving myself home!”

Of course he was. But I craved his time in a way that I’d never really wanted anything else before. Not immediate and demanding like thirst, this was something different, a different kind of want, and different kind of pain.

He shivered.

I rolled the passenger-side window down and leaned toward him. "Beau, get in the car."

His eyes narrowed, and I guessed that he was debating whether or not to make a run for it.

“I could drag you back…,” I joked, wondering if my guess was correct. The consternation on his face told me it was.

His chin held stiffly in the air, he opened her door and climbed in. His hair dripped on the leather, and his boots squeaked against each other.

“This is completely unnecessary,” he said.

I thought he looked more embarrassed than really angry. Was my behavior entirely offside? I thought I was teasing, that I was acting like the average besotted teenage boy, but what if I’d gotten it wrong? Did he feel coerced? I realized he had every reason to.

I didn’t know how to do this. How to court him as a normal, human, modern man in the year two thousand and five. As a human, I’d only learned the customs of my time. Thanks to my strange gift, I knew quite well how people thought now, what they did, how they acted, but when I tried to act casual and modern it seemed all wrong. Probably because I wasn’t normal or modern or human. And it wasn’t as if I’d learned anything usable from my family. None of them had had anything near a normal courtship, even excepting the two other qualifications.

Rosalie and Emmett had been the cliché, the classic love-at-first-sight story. There had never been a moment when either one had questioned what they were to each other. In the first second Rosalie saw Emmett, she’d been drawn to the innocence and honesty that had evaded her in life, and she wanted him. In the first second that Emmett saw Rosalie, he saw a goddess whom he had worshiped without cease ever since. There had never been an awkward first conversation full of doubt, never a fingernail-biting moment of waiting for a yes or no.

Alice and Jasper’s union had been even less normal. For all the twenty-eight years up to their first meeting, Alice had known she would love Jasper. She’d seen years, decades, centuries, of their future lives together. And Jasper, feeling all her emotions in that long-awaited moment, the purity and certainty and depth of her love, couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. It must have felt like a tsunami to him.

Carlisle and Esme had been slightly more typical than the others, I supposed. Esme had already been in love with Carlisle—much to his shock—but not through any mystical, magical means. She’d met Carlisle as a girl and, drawn to his gentleness, wit, and otherworldly beauty, formed an attachment that had haunted her for the rest of her human years. Life had not been kind to Esme, and so it was not surprising that this golden memory of a good man had never been supplanted in her heart. After the burning torment of transformation, when she’d awakened to the face of her long-cherished dream, her affections were entirely his.

I’d been on hand to caution Carlisle about her unforeseen reaction. He’d expected that she would be shocked by her transformation, traumatized by the pain, horrified by what she’d become, much as I had been. He’d expected to have to explain and apologize, to soothe and to atone. He knew there was a good chance that she would have preferred death, that she would despise him for the choice made without her knowledge or consent. So the fact that she had been immediately prepared to join this life—not really the life, but to join him—was not something he was ready for.

He’d never seen himself as a possible object of romantic love before that moment. It seemed contrary to what he was—a vampire, a monster. The knowledge I gave him changed the way he looked at Esme, the way he looked at himself.

More than that, it was a very powerful thing, choosing to save someone. It was not a decision any sane individual made lightly. When Carlisle chose me, he’d already felt a dozen binding emotions toward me before I’d even awakened to what was happening. Responsibility, anxiety, tenderness, pity, hope, compassion… there was a natural ownership to the act that I’d never experienced, only heard about through his thoughts and Rosalie’s. He already felt like my father before I knew his name. For me, it was effortless and instinctive to fall into my role as son. Love came easily—though I’d always attributed that more to who he was as a person than to his initiating my conversion.

So whether for these reasons, or whether it was because Carlisle and Esme were simply meant to be… even with my gift to hear it all as it happened, I would never know. She loved him, and he quickly found he could return that love. It was a very short period of time before his surprise changed to wonder, to discovery, and to romance. So much happiness.

Just a few moments of easily overcome awkwardness, all smoothed out with the help of a little mind reading. Nothing so awkward as this. None of them had been clueless and floundering like me.

Not a full second had passed while these less complicated pairings passed through my mind; Beau was just closing his door. I quickly turned up the heater so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable, and lowered the music to a background volume. I drove toward the exit, watching him from the corner of my eye. His lower lip was jutting out stubbornly.

Suddenly, he looked at the stereo with interest, his sulky expression disappearing. “Clair de Lune?” he asked.

A fan of the classics? “You know Debussy?”

“Not well,” he said. “My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house—I only know my favorites.”

“It’s one of my favorites, too.” I stared at the rain, considering that. I actually had something in common with the boy. I’d begun to think that we were opposites in every way.

He seemed more relaxed now, staring at the rain like me, with unseeing eyes. I used his momentary distraction to experiment with breathing.

I inhaled carefully through my nose.

Potent.

I clutched the steering wheel tightly. The rain made him smell better. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible. My tongue tingled in anticipation of the taste.

The monster wasn’t dead, I realized with disgust. Just biding his time.

I tried to swallow against the burn in my throat. It didn’t help. This made me angry. I had so little time with the boy. Look at the lengths I’d already had to go to in order to secure an extra fifteen minutes. I took another breath and fought with my reaction. I had to be stronger than this.

_ What would I be doing if I weren’t the villain of this story? _ I asked myself.  _ How would I be using this valuable time? _

I would be learning more about him.

“What is your mother like?” I asked.

Beau smiled. “She looks a lot like me, but she’s prettier.”

I eyed him skeptically.

“I have too much Charlie in me,” he went on. “She’s more outgoing than I am, and braver.”

Outgoing, I believed. Braver? I wasn’t sure.

“She’s irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she’s a very unpredictable cook. She’s my best friend.” His voice had turned melancholic. His forehead creased.

As I had noticed before, his tone sounded more like parent than child.

I stopped in front of his house.

“How old are you, Beau?” He must be older than his peers. Perhaps he’d been late to start school, or been held back. That didn’t seem likely, though, bright as he was.

“I’m seventeen,” he answered.

“You don’t seem seventeen.”

He laughed.

“What?”

“My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year.” He laughed again, and then sighed. “Well, someone has to be the adult.”

This clarified things for me. It was easy to understand how the irresponsibility of the mother would result in the maturity of the son. He’d had to grow up early, to become the caretaker. That’s why he didn’t like being cared for—he felt it was his job.

“You don’t seem much like a junior in high school yourself,” he said, pulling me from my reverie.

I frowned. For everything I perceived about him, he perceived too much in return. I changed the subject.

“So why did your mother marry Phil?”

He hesitated a minute before answering. “My mother… She's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she’s crazy about him.” He shook his head indulgently.

“Do you approve?” I wondered.

“Does it matter?” he asked. “I want her to be happy… and he is who she wants.”

The unselfishness of his comment would have shocked me except that it fit in all too well with what I’d learned of his character.

“That’s very generous.… I wonder.”

“What?”

“Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?”

It was a foolish question, and I could not keep my voice casual while I asked it. How stupid to even consider someone approving of me for her son. How stupid to even think of Beau choosing me.

“I… I think so,” he stuttered, reacting in some way to my gaze. Was it fear? I thought of Ms. Cope again. What were the other tells? Wide eyes could designate both emotions. The fluttering lashes, though, seemed to point away from fright. Beau’s lips were parted.…

He recovered. “But she’s the parent, after all. It’s a little bit different.”

I smiled wryly. “No one too scary, then.”

“What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?” He grinned at me.

“That’s one definition, I suppose.” A very nonthreatening definition, to my mind.

“What’s your definition?”

He always asked the wrong questions. Or exactly the right ones, maybe. The ones I didn’t want to answer, at any rate.

“Do you think that I could be scary?” I asked him, trying to smile a little.

He thought it through before answering me in a serious voice. “Hmm… I think you could be, if you wanted to.”

I was serious, too. “Are you frightened of me now?”

He leaned over at once, invading my space with his own body and scent. His lips gently pressed to my cheek, and he was gone in a flash. “No.”

I smiled more easily. I did not think he was entirely telling the truth, but neither was he truly lying. He wasn’t frightened enough to want to leave, at least. He’d even kissed me on the cheek, I wondered how he would feel if I told him he was having this discussion with a vampire, and then cringed internally at his imagined reaction.

“So, now are you going to tell me about your family? It’s got to be a much more interesting story than mine.”

A more frightening one, at least.

“What do you want to know?” I asked cautiously.

“The Cullens adopted you?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated, then spoke in a small voice. “What happened to your parents?”

This wasn’t so hard. I wasn’t even having to lie to him. “They died a very long time ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, clearly worried about having hurt me.

He was worried about me. Such a strange feeling, to see him care, even in this common way.

“I don’t really remember them that clearly,” I assured him. “Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now.”

“And you love them,” he deduced.

I smiled. “Yes. I couldn’t imagine two better people.”

“You’re very lucky.”

“I know I am.” In that one circumstance, the matter of parents, my luck could not be denied.

“And your brother and sister?”

If I let him push for too many details, I would have to lie. I glanced at the clock, disheartened that my time with him was up, but also relieved. The pain was severe, and I worried that the burn in my throat might suddenly flare up hot enough to control me.

“My brother and sister, and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me.”

“Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t want our time to be up, either.

_ The pain was not so bad, really, _ I thought. But I should be responsible.

“And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don’t have to tell him about the Biology incident.” I grinned at the memory of his embarrassment in my arms.

“I’m sure he’s already heard. There are no secrets in Forks.” He said the name of the town with distinct distaste.

I laughed at his words. No secrets, indeed. “Have fun at the beach.” I glanced at the pouring rain, knowing it would not last, and wishing more strongly than usual that it could. “Good weather for sunbathing.”  _ Old grandmas.  _

Well, it would be by Saturday. He would enjoy that. And his happiness had become the most important thing. More important than my own.

“Won’t I see you tomorrow?”

The worry in his tone pleased me, but also made me yearn to not have to disappoint him.

“No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early.” I was angry at myself now for having made the plans. I could break them… but there was no such thing as too much hunting at this point, and my family was going to be concerned enough about my behavior without me revealing how obsessive I was turning. I still wasn’t sure exactly what madness had possessed me last night. I really needed to find a way to control my impulses. Perhaps a little distance would help with that.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, sounding not at all happy with my revelation.

More pleasure, more pain.

“We’re going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier.” Emmett was eager for bear season.

“Oh, well, have fun,” he said halfheartedly. His lack of enthusiasm pleased me again.

As I stared at him, I began to feel almost agonized at the thought of saying even a temporary goodbye. He was so soft, so vulnerable. It seemed foolhardy to let him out of my sight, where anything could happen to him. And yet, the worst things that could happen to him would result from being with me.

“Will you do something for me this weekend?” I asked seriously.

He nodded, though clearly mystified by my intensity.

_ Keep it light. _

“Don’t be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So… try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?”

I smiled ruefully at him, hoping he couldn’t see the real sorrow in my eyes. How much I wished that he wasn’t so much better off away from me, no matter what might happen to him there.

_ Run, Beau, run. I love you too much, for your good and mine. _

He was not offended by my teasing, joking right back. A smirk stretched across his lips as he spoke. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he purred, stepping out into the rain and shutting the door just a little too hard. He jumped, and I quietly chuckled to myself. 

I curled my hand around the key I’d just picked from his jacket pocket and inhaled his scent deeply as I drove away.


	12. Scary Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This story really blew up. I checked I believe the day after I had posted my last update, and between the time I woke up and when I finally had settled down for dinner, there had been a little over a hundred hits. That's insane. Absolutely insane. 
> 
> I'm glad people are enjoying this about as much as I am. It makes me feel a type of way, and all I can say is thank you. It means alot more than I think a lot of you even realize. I get so nervous sharing my crazy story ideas, so it is really encouraging to have so many people so interested in something I'm creating. 
> 
> So thank you guys for that. 
> 
> I hope this chapter was worth the wait, and I'm really going to try to get the next chapter out within the next few days. I might split it up into three parts, just because it does feel really clunky having all these different sections together in one chapter. You guys will know in the next update what I decide to do. 
> 
> Once again, thank you, and I hope you guys enjoy! I'm so excited to read your guys' thoughts on this chapter.

As I sat in my room, trying to concentrate on the third act of Macbeth, I was really listening for my truck. I would have thought, even over the pounding rain, I could have heard the engine's roar. But when I went to peek out the curtain — again — it was suddenly there.

I wasn't looking forward to Friday, and it more than lived up to my non-expectations.

Of course there were the fainting comments. Jessica especially seemed to get a kick out of that story. Luckily Mike had kept his mouth shut, and no one seemed to know about Edward's involvement. She did have a lot of questions about lunch, though.

"So what did Edward Cullen want yesterday?" Jessica asked in Trig.

"I don't know," I answered. "He never really got to the point."

"You looked kind of mad," she fished.

"Did I?" I kept my expression blank.

"You know, I've never seen him sit with anyone but his family before. That was weird."

"Weird," I agreed. She seemed annoyed; she flipped her dark curls impatiently — I guessed she'd been hoping to hear something that would make a good story for her to pass on. I imagined how her brain would explode at the millions of questions I could answer that she wasn’t asking. For example, how it felt to have him grind into me as he got hard. I bit my lip. I was being petty. It still felt good, though. 

The worst part about Friday was that, even though I knew he wasn't going to be there, I still hoped. When I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica and Mike, I couldn't keep from looking at his table, where Rosalie, Alice, and Jasper sat talking, heads close together.

And I couldn't stop the gloom that engulfed me as I realized I didn't know how long I would have to wait before I saw him again.

At my usual table, everyone was full of our plans for the next day. Mike was animated again, putting a great deal of trust in the local weatherman who promised sun tomorrow.

I'd have to see that before I believed it. But it was warmer today — almost sixty. Maybe the outing wouldn't be completely miserable.

I intercepted a few unfriendly glances from Lauren during lunch, which I didn't understand until we were all walking out of the room together. I was right behind her, just a foot from her slick, silver blond hair, and she was evidently unaware of that.

"…don't know why Beau" — she sneered my name — "doesn't just sit with the Cullens from now on."

I heard her muttering to Mike. I'd never noticed what an unpleasant, nasal voice she had, and I was surprised by the malice in it. I really didn't know her well at all, certainly not well enough for her to dislike me — or so I'd thought. 

"She's my friend; she sits with us," Mike whispered back loyally, but also a bit territorially. I paused to let Jess and Angela pass me. I didn't want to hear any more. I’d end up punching her stupid teeth in. 

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find a girl from my Biology class.

Her loose hair was tight, dark curls paired with dreads that kept most of her hair together and manageable. These dreads were twisted and pinned up in a messy half bun. I guessed that, if she had let her hair down, it would end just a little past the middle of her back. A red, stained bandana was fastened around her head like a headband. She wore a white, cropped wife beater under a thick, dark blue hoodie that was left open. She wore army green cargo pants with a thick, dark belt. The pants hung low on her hips, causing the bottom of her pants to bunch up at the ankles around her steel toed boots. The black boots had worn the bottom of hre cargo pants to tatters around the heel. 

"Hey, uh, it's... Beau, right?" Her voice was low. It suited her. 

"Yeah. And you're Tara, right? We did that project together." Her face broke out into a grin. 

"Not bad, Swan. Not bad at all." We began walking to class. 

"Do you have any particular reason for talking to me?" 

"Oh, uh, yeah. I've got a couple questions." The way she walked was laid back, almost lazy. "I'm failing most of my classes. And when we worked together, ya know, it was kinda... fun. And I felt like I was actually learning something." 

I smiled. "I'm glad I could help." We entered the classroom, and instead of going back to her usual seat, she followed me to my table, sitting in what would usually be Edward's seat. 

"Well, I was wondering if, maybe, you could like, help me with some of my other work." 

"Like a tutor?" She nodded.

"Yeah, yeah. Like a tutor." She paused, staring down at her hand. 

"If I don't get some help, I won't graduate next year. I know it's a lot to ask, but I would honestly really appreciate it. like, a lot." 

"Okay. I'll tutor you. We can trade numbers and set up a day that we get together and get some work done." She looked at me, her eyes wide. 

"Wait, really?" I nod. 

"Yeah. I'm happy to help." She gawked. She probably expected me to say no. It seemed like most people didn't like her too much. They ignored and dismissed her a lot. I know Mike did. When we started the project, he wanted nothing to do with her. And I couldn't completely understand why. She was nice enough. She didn't always know what was going on, but she picked up quick, and she did her fair share in a group setting. 

She handed me her phone. "Here. I'll text you my number while we're here, that way I don't forget."

I took her phone and quickly input my information, giving it back once I had finished. 

"I'll text you once I get home, and we can talk and set it up." She smiled. 

"Well, alright." The bell rang and class started. I helped her every so often throughout class, whenever she tapped my arm. 

* * *

Charlie seemed enthusiastic about my trip to La Push in the morning. I think he felt guilty for leaving me home alone on the weekends, but he'd spent too many years building his habits to break them now. Of course he knew the names of all the kids going, and their parents, and their great-grandparents, too. He seemed to approve. I wondered if he would approve of my plan to ride to Seattle with Edward Cullen. Not that I was going to tell him.

"Dad, do you know a place called Goat Rocks or something like that? I think it's south of Mount Rainier," I asked casually.

"Yeah — why?"

I shrugged. "Some kids were talking about camping there."

"It's not a very good place for camping." He sounded surprised." Too many bears. Most people go there during the hunting season."

"Oh. Maybe I got the name wrong." I shrugged. 

After dinner, I texted Tara, and we agreed to Saturdays, starting the following week. I gave her my address. I would have get some snacks for us. I was actually excited for her to come over.

I started my homework, simultaneously thinking of all the different snacks Tara might like. 

* * *

I meant to sleep in, but an unusual brightness woke me. I opened my eyes to see a clear yellow light streaming through my window. I couldn't believe it. I hurried to the window to check, and sure enough, there was the sun. It was in the wrong place in the sky, too low, and it didn't seem to be as close as it should be, but it was definitely the sun. Clouds ringed the horizon, but a large patch of blue was visible in the middle. I lingered by the window as long as I could, afraid that if I left the blue would disappear again. I got ready for the day, and thought about bringing my phone, but decided against it. 

The Newtons ' Olympic Outfitters store was just north of town. I'd seen the store, but I'd never stopped there — not having much need for any supplies required for being outdoors over an extended period of time. In the parking lot I recognized Mike's Suburban and Tyler's Sentra. As I pulled up next to their vehicles, I could see the group standing around in front of the Suburban. Eric was there, along with two other boys I had class with; I was fairly sure their names were Ben and Conner. Jess was there, flanked by Angela and Lauren. Three other girls stood with them, including one I remembered falling over in Gym on Friday. That one gave me a dirty look as I got out of the truck, and whispered something to Lauren. Lauren shook out her cornsilk hair and eyed me scornfully. I rolled my eyes. 

So it was going to be one of those days.

At least Mike was happy to see me.

"You came!" he called, delighted. "And I said it would be sunny today, didn't I?"

"I told you I was coming," I reminded him.

"We're just waiting for Lee and Samantha… unless you invited someone," Mike added.

"Nope," I lied lightly, hoping I wouldn't get caught in the lie. But also wishing that a miracle would occur, and Edward would appear.

Mike looked satisfied.

"Will you ride in my car? It's that or Lee's mom's minivan."

"Sure."

He smiled blissfully. It was so easy to make Mike happy.

"You can have shotgun," he promised. I hid my chagrin. It wasn't as simple to make Mike and Jessica happy at the same time. I could see Jessica glowering at us now.

The numbers worked out in my favor, though. Lee brought two extra people, and suddenly every seat was necessary. I managed to wedge Jess in between Mike and me in the front seat of the Suburban. Mike could have been more graceful about it, but at least Jess seemed appeased.

It was only fifteen miles to La Push from Forks, with gorgeous, dense green forests edging the road most of the way and the wide Quillayute River snaking beneath it twice. I was glad I had the window seat. We'd rolled the windows down — the Suburban was a bit claustrophobic with nine people in it — and I tried to absorb as much sunlight as possible.

I'd been to the beaches around La Push many times during my Forks summers with Charlie, so the mile-long crescent of First Beach was familiar to me. It was still breathtaking. The water was dark gray, even in the sunlight, white-capped and heaving to the gray, rocky shore. Islands rose out of the steel harbor waters with sheer cliff sides, reaching to uneven summits, and crowned with austere, soaring firs. The beach had only a thin border of actual sand at the water's edge, after which it grew into millions of large, smooth stones that looked uniformly gray from a distance, but close up were every shade a stone could be: terra-cotta, sea green, lavender, blue gray, dull gold. The tide line was strewn with huge driftwood trees, bleached bone white in the salt waves, some piled together against the edge of the forest fringe, some lying solitary, just out of reach of the waves.

There was a brisk wind coming off the waves, cool and briny. Pelicans floated on the swells while seagulls and a lone eagle wheeled above them. The clouds still circled the sky, threatening to invade at any moment, but for now the sun shone bravely in its halo of blue sky.

We picked our way down to the beach, Mike leading the way to a ring of driftwood logs that had obviously been used for parties like ours before. There was a fire circle already in place, filled with black ashes. Eric and the boy I thought was named Ben gathered broken branches of driftwood from the drier piles against the forest edge, and soon had a teepee-shaped construction built atop the old cinders.

"Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?" Mike asked me. I was sitting on one of the bone-colored benches; the girls clustered, gossiping excitedly, on either side of me.

Mike kneeled by the fire, lighting one of the smaller sticks with a cigarette lighter.

"No," I said as he placed the blazing twig carefully against the teepee.

"You'll like this then — watch the colors." He lit another small branch and laid it alongside the first. The flames started to lick quickly up the dry wood.

"It's blue," I said in surprise.

"The salt does it. Pretty, isn't it?" He lit one more piece, placed it where the fire hadn't yet caught, and then came to sit by me. Thankfully, Jess was on his other side. She turned to him and claimed his attention. I watched the strange blue and green flames crackle toward the sky.

After a half hour of chatter, some of the boys wanted to hike to the nearby tidal pools. It was a dilemma. On the one hand, I loved the tide pools. They had fascinated me since I was a child; they were one of the only things I ever looked forward to when I had to come to Forks. On the other hand, I'd also fallen into them a lot. Not a big deal when you're seven and with your dad. It reminded me of Edward's request — that I not fall into the ocean.

Lauren was the one who made my decision for me. She didn't want to hike, and she was definitely wearing the wrong shoes for it. Most of the other girls besides Angela and Jessica decided to stay on the beach as well. I waited until Tyler and Eric had committed to remaining with them before I got up quietly to join the pro-hiking group. Mike gave me a huge smile when he saw that I was coming.

The hike wasn't too long, though I hated to lose the sky in the woods. The green light of the forest was strangely at odds with the adolescent laughter, too murky and ominous to be in harmony with the light banter around me. I had to watch each step I took very carefully, avoiding roots below and branches above, and I soon fell behind. Eventually I broke through the emerald confines of the forest and found the rocky shore again. It was low tide, and a tidal river flowed past us on its way to the sea. Along its pebbled banks, shallow pools that never completely drained were teeming with life.

I was very cautious not to lean too far over the little ocean ponds. The others were fearless, leaping over the rocks, perching precariously on the edges. I found a very stable-looking rock on the fringe of one of the largest pools and sat there cautiously, spellbound by the natural aquarium below me. The bouquets of brilliant anemones undulated ceaselessly in the invisible current, twisted shells scurried about the edges, obscuring the crabs within them, starfish stuck motionless to the rocks and each other, while one small black eel with white racing stripes wove through the bright green weeds, waiting for the sea to return. I was completely absorbed, except for one small part of my mind that wondered what Edward was doing now, and trying to imagine what he would be saying if he were here with me. Why couldn’t I get him out of my head? I was being dumb and acting like an obssessed girl. 

Finally the boys were hungry, and I got up stiffly to follow them back. I tried to keep up better this time through the woods, so naturally I fell a few times. I got some shallow scrapes on my palms, and the knees of my jeans were stained green, but it could have been worse.

When we got back to First Beach, the group we'd left behind had multiplied. As we got closer we could see the shining, straight black hair and copper skin of the newcomers, teenagers from the reservation come to socialize.

The food was already being passed around, and the boys hurried to claim a share while Eric introduced us as we each entered the driftwood circle. Angela and I were the last to arrive, and, as Eric said our names, I noticed a younger boy sitting on the stones near the fire glance up at me in interest. I sat down next to Angela, and Mike brought us sandwiches and an array of sodas to choose from, while a boy who looked to be the oldest of the visitors rattled off the names of the seven others with him. All I caught was that one of the girls was also named Jessica, and the boy who noticed me was named Jacob.

It was relaxing to sit with Angela; she was a restful kind of person to be around — her aura was calm and she didn't feel the need to fill every silence with chatter. She left me free to think undisturbed while we ate. And I was thinking about how disjointedly time seemed to flow in Forks, passing in a blur at times, with single images standing out more clearly than others. And then, at other times, every second was significant, etched in my mind. I knew exactly what caused the difference, and it disturbed me.

During lunch the clouds started to advance, slinking across the blue sky, darting in front of the sun momentarily, casting long shadows across the beach, and blackening the waves. As they finished eating, people started to drift away in twos and threes. Some walked down to the edge of the waves, trying to skip rocks across the choppy surface.

Others were gathering a second expedition to the tide pools. Mike — with Jessica shadowing him — headed up to the one shop in the village. Some of the local kids went with them; others went along on the hike. By the time they all had scattered, I was sitting alone on my driftwood log, with Lauren and Tyler occupying themselves by the CD player someone had thought to bring, and three teenagers from the reservation perched around the circle, including the boy named Jacob and the oldest boy who had acted as spokesperson.

A few minutes after Angela left with the hikers, Jacob sauntered over to take her place by my side. He looked fourteen, maybe fifteen, and had long, glossy black hair pulled back with a rubber band at the nape of his neck. His skin was beautiful, silky and russet-colored; his eyes were dark, set deep above the high planes of his cheekbones. He still had just a hint of childish roundness left around his chin. Altogether, a very pretty face.

"You're Beaufort Swan, aren't you?"

It was like the first day of school all over again.

"Beau," I sighed.

"I'm Jacob Black." He held his hand out in a friendly gesture. "You bought my dad's truck."

"Oh," I said, relieved, shaking his sleek hand. "You're Billy's son. I probably should remember you."

"No, I'm the youngest of the family — you would remember my older sisters."

"Rachel and Rebecca," I suddenly recalled. Charlie and Billy had thrown us together a lot during my visits, to keep us busy while they fished. We were all too shy to make much progress as friends. Of course, I'd kicked up enough tantrums to end the fishing trips by the time I was eleven. Well, eleven to the Blacks. 

"Are they here?" I examined the girls at the ocean's edge, wondering if I would recognize them now.

"No." Jacob shook his head. "Rachel got a scholarship to Washington State, and Rebecca married a Samoan surfer — she lives in Hawaii now."

"Married. Wow." I was stunned. The twins were only a little over a year older than I was. At least, the age I was supposed to be. 

"So how do you like the truck?" he asked.

"I love it. It runs great."

"Yeah, but it's really slow," he laughed. "I was so relieved when Charlie bought it. My dad wouldn't let me work on building another car when we had a perfectly good vehicle right there."

"It's not that slow," I objected.

"Have you tried to go over sixty?"

"No," I admitted.

"Good. Don't." He grinned.

I couldn't help grinning back. "It does great in a collision," I offered in my truck's defense.

"I don't think a tank could take out that old monster," he agreed with another laugh.

"So you build cars?" I asked, impressed.

"When I have free time, and parts. You wouldn't happen to know where I could get my hands on a master cylinder for a 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit?" he added jokingly. He had a pleasant, husky voice.

"Sorry," I laughed, "I haven't seen any lately, but I'll keep my eyes open for you." He was very easy to talk with.

He flashed a brilliant smile, looking at me appreciatively in a way I recognized. I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"You know Beau, Jacob?" Lauren asked — in what I imagined was an insolent tone — from across the fire.

"We've sort of known each other since I was born," he laughed, smiling at me again.

"How nice." She didn't sound like she thought it was nice at all, and her pale, fishy eyes narrowed.

"Beau," she called again, watching my face carefully, "I was just saying to Tyler that it was too bad none of the Cullens could come out today. Didn't anyone think to invite them?" Her expression of concern was unconvincing. I was definitely punching her teeth in the next chance I got.

"You mean Dr. Carlisle Cullen's family?" the tall, older boy asked before I could respond, much to Lauren's irritation. He was really closer to a man than a boy, and his voice was very deep.

"Yes, do you know them?" she asked condescendingly, turning halfway toward him.

"The Cullens don't come here," he said in a tone that closed the subject, ignoring her question.

Tyler, trying to win back her attention, asked Lauren's opinion on a CD he held. She was distracted.

I stared at the deep-voiced boy, taken aback, but he was looking away toward the dark forest behind us. He'd said that the Cullens didn't come here, but his tone had implied something more — that they weren't allowed; they were prohibited. His manner left a strange impression on me, and I tried to ignore it without success.

Jacob interrupted my meditation. "So is Forks driving you insane yet?"

"Oh, I'd say that's an understatement." I grimaced. He grinned understandingly.

I was still turning over the brief comment on the Cullens, and I had a sudden inspiration. It was a stupid plan, but I didn't have any better ideas. I hoped that young Jacob was inexperienced around girls, so that he wouldn't see through my flirting.

"Do you want to walk down the beach with me?" I asked, imitating that way Edward had looked up from underneath his eyelashes. Jacob jumped up willingly enough.

As we walked north across the multihued stones toward the driftwood seawall, the clouds finally closed ranks across the sky, causing the sea to darken and the temperature to drop. I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket.

"So you're, what, sixteen?" I asked, trying not to look like an idiot as I fluttered my eyelids the way I'd seen girls do on TV. 

"I just turned fifteen," he confessed, flattered.

"Really?" My face was full of false surprise. "I would have thought you were older."

"I'm tall for my age," he explained.

"Do you come up to Forks much?" I asked archly, as if I was hoping for a yes. I sounded idiotic to myself. I was afraid he would turn on me with disgust and accuse me of my fraud, but he still seemed flattered.

"Not too much," he admitted with a frown. "But when I get my car finished I can go up as much as I want — after I get my license," he amended.

"Who was that other boy Lauren was talking to? He seemed a little old to be hanging out with us." I purposefully lumped myself in with the youngsters, trying to make it clear that I preferred Jacob. I was having a really hard time not vomiting on Jacob just at the thought that he was underaged. 

"That's Sam — he's nineteen," he informed me.

"What was that he was saying about the doctor's family?" I asked innocently.

"The Cullens? Oh, they're not supposed to come onto the reservation." He looked away, out toward James Island, as he confirmed what I'd thought I'd heard in Sam's voice.

"Why not?"

He glanced back at me, biting his lip. "Oops. I'm not supposed to say anything about that."

"Oh, I won't tell anyone, I'm just curious." I made my smile alluring, wondering if I was laying it on too thick.

He smiled back. Then he lifted one eyebrow and his voice was even huskier than before.

"Do you like scary stories?" he asked ominously.

"I love them," I enthused, making an effort to smolder at him. Flirting the way humans did was difficult. It would have been much easier to do if I could have just used all the other tricks up my sleeves, but I needed to preserve my energy. It also would have been easier if Jacob wasn’t fifteen. 

Jacob strolled to a nearby driftwood tree that had its roots sticking out like the attenuated legs of a huge, pale spider. He perched lightly on one of the twisted roots while I sat beneath him on the body of the tree. He stared down at the rocks, a smile hovering around the edges of his broad lips. I could see he was going to try to make this good. I focused on keeping the vital interest I felt out of my eyes.

"Do you know any of our old stories, about where we came from — the Quileutes, I mean?" he began.

"Not really," I admitted.

"Well, there are lots of legends, some of them claiming to date back to the Flood — supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the ark." He smiled, to show me how little stock he put in the histories. "Another legend claims that we descended from wolves — and that the wolves are our brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them.

"Then there are the stories about the cold ones." His voice dropped a little lower.

"The cold ones?" I asked, not faking my intrigue now.

"Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land." He rolled his eyes.

"Your great-grandfather?" I encouraged.

"He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf—well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."

"Werewolves have enemies?"

"Only one."

I stared at him earnestly, hoping to disguise my impatience as admiration.

"So you see," Jacob continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their kind did — they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandfather made a truce with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." He winked at me.

"If they weren't dangerous, then why… ?" I tried to understand, struggling not to let him see how seriously I was considering his ghost story.

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilized like this clan was. You never know when they might get too hungry to resist." He deliberately worked a thick edge of menace into his tone.

"What do you mean, 'civilized'?" I had one particular idea about what the Cullens were now. 

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead." Explaining why they had golden eyes instead of red. 

I tried to keep my voice casual. "So how does it fit in with the Cullens? Are they like the cold ones your great grandfather met?"

"No." He paused dramatically. "They are the same ones."

He must have thought the expression on my face was fear inspired by his story. He smiled, pleased, and continued.

"There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest are the same. In my great-grandfather's time they already knew of the leader, Carlisle. He'd been here and gone before your people had even arrived." He was fighting a smile.

"And what are they?" I finally asked. "What are the cold ones?" Vampires. They had to be Vampires. 

He smiled darkly.

"Blood drinkers," he replied in a chilling voice. "Your people call them Vampires."

I stared out at the rough surf after he answered, not sure what my face was exposing. 

"You have goose bumps," he laughed delightedly.

"You're a good storyteller," I complimented him, still staring into the waves. How was I supposed to look at Edward now that I knew he was a Vampire?

"Pretty crazy stuff, though, isn't it? No wonder my dad doesn't want us to talk about it to anyone."

I couldn't control my expression enough to look at him yet. "Don't worry, I won't give you away." 

"I guess I just violated the treaty," he laughed.

"I'll take it to the grave," I promised, and then I shivered. I would look at him the same way I always did. He was more liable to be disgusted by me anyway. 

"Seriously, though, don't say anything to Charlie. He was pretty mad at my dad when he heard that some of us weren't going to the hospital since Dr. Cullen started working there."

"I won't, of course not."

"So do you think we're a bunch of superstitious natives or what?" he asked in a playful tone, but with a hint of worry. I still hadn't looked away from the ocean.

I turned and smiled at him as normally as I could.

"No. I think you're very good at telling scary stories, though. I still have goose bumps, see?" I held up my arm. I hoped he couldn’t see just how much my hands were shaking. 

"Cool." He smiled.

And then the sound of the beach rocks clattering against each other warned us that someone was approaching. Our heads snapped up at the same time to see Mike and Jessica about fifty yards away, walking toward us.

"There you are, Beau," Mike called in relief, waving his arm over his head.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Jacob asked, alerted by the jealous edge in Mike's voice. I was surprised it was so obvious.

"No, definitely not," I whispered. I was tremendously grateful to Jacob, and eager to make him as happy as possible. I winked at him, carefully turning away from Mike to do so. He smiled, elated by my flirting.

"So when I get my license…" he began.

"You should come see me in Forks. We could hang out sometime." I felt guilty as I said this, knowing that I'd used him. But I really did like Jacob. He was someone I could easily be friends with. It was much less complicated and muddled than whatever me and Edward had. 

Mike had reached us now, with Jessica still a few paces back. I could see his eyes appraising Jacob, and looking satisfied at his obvious youth.

"Where have you been?" he asked, though the answer was right in front of him.

"Jacob was just telling me some local stories," I volunteered. "It was really interesting."

I smiled at Jacob warmly, and he grinned back.

"Well," Mike paused, carefully reassessing the situation as he watched our camaraderie. Finally, a content assuredness settled over him. The slight jealousy still oozed through. 

"We're packing up — it looks like it's going to rain soon."

We all looked up at the glowering sky. It certainly did look like rain.

"Okay." I jumped up. "I'm coming."

"It was nice to see you again," Jacob said, and I could tell he was taunting Mike just a bit.

"It really was. Next time Charlie comes down to see Billy, I'll come, too," I promised. 

His grin stretched across his face. "That would be cool."

"And thanks," I added earnestly.

I pulled up my hood as we tramped across the rocks toward the parking lot. A few drops were beginning to fall, making black spots on the stones where they landed. When we got to the Suburban the others were already loading everything back in. I crawled into the backseat by Angela and Tyler, announcing that I'd already had my turn in the shotgun position. Angela just stared out the window at the escalating storm, and Lauren twisted around in the middle seat to occupy Tyler 's attention, so I could simply lay my head back on the seat and close my eyes and try very hard not to think. But of course it’s never that easy. 

“Beau?” Lauren’s distinct, high pitched and nasally voice chirped. I want to pretend I was asleep, but no one falls asleep in less than a minute. 

I opened my eyes and looked at her. I readjusted myself so I was sitting up straighter. 

“Oh good. You aren’t asleep.” Her smirk was irritating beyond belief. Maybe I should just cut her lips off. Yeah, that would make me feel better. 

“What do you want, Lauren?” She was pissing me off. I wanted to be done with her as soon as possible. But that was too much to hope for. 

She giggled. “Awe, no need to be snappy. I just had a quick question.” She bit her lip, another giggle slipping out of her slightly parted lips. 

“Get on with it.” My patience for her stupid, passive aggressive teenage girl behavior was dwindling. 

“So do you… like… take it? Or give it?” I ground my teeth together.

“None of your business.” Her eyes lit up, and I knew I had made a horrible mistake. 

“Wow. That’s so — surprising!” She smiled, and I kept my trembling hands clenched in my lap. Her smug face said it all — she was, in fact, not surprised. Everyone assumed I bottomed. Which was accurate, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Oh, nothing much. You wanna know what I think?”

“For what?” I furrowed my brow. She was dancing around the true subject, and I just wanted her to get to it. 

“I bet you take it.” I blinked. Her eyebrow was cocked, and a smug smirk was plastered on her lips. I was far too stunned to respond. After all, how was I supposed to discount and argue against an assumption that was completely accurate? It was still shocking she had said it so boldly. 

“Come on, Lauren. Don’tcha think that’s enough?” Tyler cut in. She paid him no mind, continuing on. 

“Edward being gay explains a lot.” 

“Why do you say that?” I asked. I was beyond perplexed. What was her endgame here? What was she trying to say? 

“Well, I mean, come on. The only reason Edward is going after you is you're clearly the only other gay guy at school. Otherwise, I’m sure he wouldn’t even take a second glance.” 

I grimaced. 

Was that true? I’d been fearing all along that he wasn’t ever actually interested. That he was just playing along because I was making him. Was I only interesting to him because I am gay? It was slim pickings in a small town, after all. 

“Maybe that’s another reason Edward likes you.” 

I stared at her. “What is?” My stomach sank, butterflies and knots making it very hard to hold my resolve and not try to quell the nausea by breathing. I would not be weak in front of her. 

“You play hard to get, but if someone were to truly show any interest, you’d give it up immediately.” My knee bounced faster, and my palms began to sweat as they trembled violently.

This was nothing I hadn’t heard before. Everyone had their own conclusions on why I affected the men in town so strongly. Pretty girls like Lauren were usually the most jealous. After all, they’d never been denied a single thing in their life, so why was some insignificant boy who was average at best catching the attention of every guy that simply looked at him? It was a normal reaction to my presence.

Then why did it bother me so much when she said it?

“What exactly are you trying to say,  _ Lauren _ ?” My knee bounced of its own accord, and I kept my clenched fists firmly in my lap. She should just spit it out already. 

“Everyone is only paying this much attention because they know you're easy. You’ve been using everyone to get whatever you want and get to the top of the social ladder. You’re nothing and you know it.” 

“Lauren! Seriously, stop it.” Tyler was looking between us with wide eyes. 

“Why should I? It’s the truth,” Lauren stated. She tapped her fingernails on the leather of her seat. 

“Maybe. But I don’t think you’re talking about me,” I said, cold and without my usual sarcasm. 

She scoffed. “Who else could I possibly be talking about?” 

“Yourself.” I knew I was poking the bear. I was egging her on, but I couldn’t stop myself. 

Her jaw dropped. Tyler snorted, and she turned on him.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” she snarled. Tyler went quiet, and her attention turned back to me. 

“Fucking hilarious.” Her face went red, her eyelid twitched, and I was smirking like the smug bastard I am. 

Lauren leaned closer, her face now only a couple of inches away from my face. Her face was contorted into an expression of pure rage. Her lip was pulled back over her teeth, and her teeth were clenched. Her eyes were wild and narrowed. 

“You’re a disgusting, dirty slut, and everyone can see it. Edward only likes you because you’re a temporary hole to fuck until he can find something better.” 

I balled my fist and threw a single punch at her pretty, stupid face. The impact sent her out of her seat and into the driver’s seat. Blood flowed from her nose and mouth. The thick, syrupy liquid oozed onto her palms, covering the flesh in red. She let out a shriek, causing everyone in the vehicle to shoot their attention towards the scene. 

The car stopped, and I threw myself over Tyler’s lap and out the back door of the Suburban. Pandemonium followed as yelling and slamming doors invaded the quiet air around me in front of Newtons' Olympic Outfitters. The minivan raced into the parking lot, stopping right next to the Suburban. More people jumped out of the second vehicle and rushed to the side of the car that Lauren had surely exited from.

“Oh my god! What happened?” I couldn’t pinpoint who said it, only that they were clearly panicked. 

“The fucking psycho hit me!” Lauren screeched, sniffling through tears. 

My head spun. The scent of her blood wafted through the air like smoke from a barbecue. It made my vision go blurry as the world in front of me spun in and out of focus. My hands shook. My body ached. The temperature was rising, and I began to hyperventilate. 

Someone took one step toward me. The second the sole of their shoe clacked against the pavement, I took off like a bullet to my truck. I fumbled with my keys, struggling to get my trembling fingers to function in any coherent manner. 

Several sets of footfalls began to ambush my ears as the others got closer. I, finally, managed to unlock the driver’s side door of my truck. I flung it open and threw myself into it, slamming the door behind me. I locked the doors as Mike finally reached the truck. He frantically slammed his fist against the driver’s side window, shouting incoherently at me. 

I needed to get out of here. There was no way I could stay, especially with Lauren bleeding so profusely. I jammed the key into the ignition and turned it. The truck roared to life, and I honked the horn repeatedly. I could hear everyone back away, each footstep echoing and pulsing through the glass. 

I slammed my foot into the gas pedal as I threw the truck into reverse. I shifted into the proper gear, and turned the wheel to reorient the truck properly as I sped out of the parking lot and down the road. I checked the speedometer. 55. 

I only slowed down once I had made it to my street. I swerved into the drive and came to a full stop. I turned the truck off, and gripped the steering wheel with my shaky hands. I took a few shaky breaths. 

I could still smell the blood. It stuck in my brain so vividly. I glanced at my hands. I held the wheel with a white knuckled grip, but that was not what made my blood run cold. 

The knuckles on my right hand were coated in Lauren’s blood. 

I balled my trembling hand into a tight fist, raising it to my lips. My tongue snaked out from between my lips, and I inched my tongue across my own skin. Once I had finished, the blood had vanished. 

I stared at my front porch, then I rested my head back and let my eyelids slide shut as I gripped at the steering wheel. I just needed a few minutes. 


	13. Melody (Edward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god. This is all kinda crazy to me how quickly the number of hits are climbing. 
> 
> And anyone who's debating leaving a comment, please, just do it! I love reading your guys comments. I constantly check my emails looking for new comments, so if you're even just considering it, just do it. I love reading them and interacting with you guys!
> 
> You will notice by the chapter length that I decided to split up the chapter into multiple parts. It will only be two parts, so it won't be spread out too crazy. It just felt off having this section of the chapter, and then the other two sections all together as one. It was too me crazy scene and time jumps. So, I split it up. 
> 
> I don't know when I'll get the next chapter out, seeing as there is a lot of rewriting I have to do for the next couple of chapters. Hopefully it's soon, but I can't make any promises. 
> 
> Seriously, once again, thank you guys so much. You guys are awesome, and I'm honestly so honored and glad to hear that so many of you not only enjoy it, but actually look forward to this story. 
> 
> Oh, and, if anyone wants to listen to the song Edward is playing during this chapter, it's called The Minstrel's Prayer by Cartel. Kind of a throw back, but oh boy if it isn't romantic and totally fitting for this.

I had to wait when I got back to school. The final hour wasn’t out yet. That was good, because I had things to think about and I needed the time alone.

His scent lingered in the car. I kept the windows up, letting it assault me, trying to get used to the feel of intentionally torching my throat.

Attraction.

It was a problematic thing to contemplate. So many sides to it, so many different meanings and levels. Not the same thing as love, but tied up in it inextricably.

I had no idea if Beau was attracted to me. I tried to compare his physical responses to others’, like the receptionist and Jessica Stanley, but the comparison was inconclusive. The same markers—changes in heart rate and breathing patterns—could just as easily mean fear or shock or anxiety as they did interest. Certainly women, and other men too, had reacted to my face with instinctive apprehension. Many more had that response than the alternative. It seemed unlikely that Beau could be entertaining the same kinds of thoughts that Jessica Stanley used to have. After all, Beau knew very well that there was something wrong with me, even if he didn’t know exactly what it was. He had touched my icy skin, and then yanked his hand away from the chill.

And yet… I remembered those fantasies that used to repulse me, but remembered them with Beau in Jessica’s place.

I was breathing more quickly, the fire clawing up and down my throat.

What if it had been Beau imagining me with my arms wrapped around his fragile body? Feeling me pull him tightly against my chest and then cupping my hand under his chin? Brushing the heavy curtain of his hair back from his blushing face? Tracing the shape of his full lips with my fingertips? Leaning my face closer to his, where I could feel the heat of his breath on my mouth? Moving closer still… 

Wasn’t this something that had already happened on his porch in the dead of night? 

Attraction was an impossible dilemma, because I was already attracted to Beau in the worst way.

Did I want Beau to be attracted to me?

That was the wrong question. The right question was should I want Beau to be attracted to me that way, and the answer was no. Because I was not a human man, and that wasn’t fair to him.

With every fiber of my being, I ached to be a normal man, so that I could hold him in my arms without risking his life. So that I could be free to spin my own fantasies, fantasies that didn’t end with his blood on my hands, his blood glowing in my eyes.

My pursuit of him was indefensible. What kind of relationship could I offer him, when I couldn’t risk touching him?

I hung my head in my hands.

It was all the more confusing because I had never felt so human in my whole life—not even when I was human, as far as I could recall. In those days, my thoughts had all been turned to a soldier’s glory. The Great War had raged through most of my adolescence, and I’d been only nine months away from my eighteenth birthday when the influenza had struck. I had just vague impressions of those human years, murky memories that became less real with every passing decade. I remembered my mother most clearly and felt an ancient ache when I thought of her face. I recalled dimly how much she had hated the future I’d raced eagerly toward, praying every night when she said grace at dinner that the “horrid war” would end. I had no memories of another kind of yearning. Besides my mother’s love, there was no other love that had made me wish to stay.

This was entirely new to me. I had no parallels to draw, no comparisons to make.

The love I felt for Beau had come purely, but now the waters were muddied. I wanted very much to be able to touch him. Did he feel the same way?

That didn’t matter, I tried to convince myself.

I stared at my white hands, hating their hardness, their coldness, their inhuman strength.…

I jumped when the passenger door opened.

_ Ha. Caught you by surprise. There’s a first, _ Emmett thought as he slid into the seat. “I’ll bet Mrs. Goff thinks you’re on drugs, you’ve been so erratic lately. Where were you today?”

“I was… doing good deeds.”

_ Huh? _

I chuckled. “Caring for the sick, that kind of thing.”

That confused him more, but then he inhaled and caught the scent in the car.

“Oh. The boy again?”

I scowled.

_ This is getting weird. _

“Tell me about it,” I mumbled.

He inhaled again. “Hmm, he does have quite a flavor, doesn’t he?”

The snarl broke through my lips before his words had even registered all the way, an automatic response.

“Easy, kid, I’m just sayin’.”

The others arrived then. Rosalie noticed the scent at once and glowered at me, still not over her irritation. I wondered what her real problem was, but all I could hear from her were insults.

I didn’t like Jasper’s reaction, either. Like Emmett, he noticed Beau’s appeal. Not that the scent had, for either of them, a thousandth portion of the draw it had for me, but it still upset me that his blood was sweet to them. Jasper had poor control.

Alice skipped to my side of the car and held her hand out for Beau’s truck key.

“I only saw that I was,” she said—as was her habit—obscurely. “You’ll have to tell me the whys.”

“This doesn’t mean—”

“I know, I know. I’ll wait. It won’t be long.”

I sighed and gave her the key.

I followed her to Beau’s house. The rain was pounding down like a million tiny hammers, so loud that Beau’s human ears might not hear the thunder of the truck’s engine. I watched his window, but he didn’t come to look out. Maybe he wasn’t there. There were no thoughts to hear.

It made me sad that I couldn’t hear enough of his thoughts even to check on him—to make sure he was happy, or safe, at the very least.

Alice climbed into the back. I sped down the road much slower than usual when the roads were empty. Beau’s scent still remained thick in the air, and I was prolonging my time around his scent, trying to continue to condition myself to be able to at least tolerate it for longer and longer periods of time. I was also mulling over the idea of attraction. Again. 

Beau and I had shared a very… heavy kiss on his porch. Attraction would be a very good explanation for it, but humans could be fickle. Humans didn’t always seek out companionship or gratification because of attraction. Comfort is a very common reason. They seek to comfort themselves or others. And comfort explained the events of last night much better. He was seeking some sort of comfort for himself. Right? Then again, I wasn’t always the best at reading Beau and his thought processes behind his actions. 

Comfort definitely explained the peck from earlier. He may have not even recognized it himself, or noticed that I knew what he was doing, but it was an action meant to make me feel better about… something. That was the part that confused me. What he was trying to make me feel better about was a mystery. 

I raised my hand to my cheek, brushing the very tips of my fingers against the spot Beau had pressed his lips. 

“What was going on with you and the Swan boy at lunch today?” Jasper asked, loud and intentional. 

Alice looked at Jasper before turning her attention towards me. Emmett’s head snapped towards me quickly, and Rosalie scoffed before choosing to glower at the back of my head. I cleared my throat. 

“I sat with him and we just talked.” Jasper’s lips spread into a wide, knowing smile.

“Oh? What exactly about?” 

“Whether or not we were going to be...  _ Friends _ .” The last word came out harsh and bitter. 

I had finally decided I loathed that single word more than any other. It was so limiting, so ridiculously casual and nonchalant. It implied certain boundaries could not be crossed, and they were boundaries we had already begun to ignore at an increasingly quick pace. 

I gripped the steering wheel and gritted my teeth, hoping maybe that one of them would crack. Jasper laughed, and Emmett followed suit. 

“What is going with  _ that _ ?” I thought about ignoring Emmett, but I decided better of it considering I wasn’t exactly sure what “that” he was referring to. 

“What are you referring to?” I kept my eyes forward. 

“You getting all worked up like this.”  _ I don’t need to be like you or Jasper to know you really are not happy about the concept of being friends.  _

“No one would be thrilled by being friends with someone when they knew it was impossible,” I said dryly. 

“I’m gonna second Emmett’s line of questioning and ask what was that at lunch about?” Jasper asked, amused.  _ Bastard,  _ I thought. 

“What “that” at lunch are you referring to?” 

Alice cut in, worry evident in her tone. 

“Yeah, Jazz, what are you referring to?” She scanned her memory, as well as her many visions.  _ I don’t see you doing anything, but I need to make sure...  _

“I would say you were getting very worked up at lunch today. Why is that Eddie?” I groaned at the nickname. I hated it just about as much as I hated the word friends. 

“I’m not saying anything else, so stop trying to pester me. I hear anymore questions and I’m making whomever asks them walk home.” I rubbed my temple and continued to stare blankly at the road in front of me. 

I sped up the road and to the house. We were close, and I wanted to end this as soon as possible. I got out, slamming the door behind me. Everyone else followed, and we trooped into the house. Then we went to our various pastimes.

Emmett and Jasper were in the middle of an elaborate game of chess, utilizing eight joined boards spread out along the glass back wall, and their own complicated set of rules. They wouldn’t let me play; only Alice would play games with me anymore.

Alice went to her computer just around the corner from them and I could hear her monitors sing to life. She was working on a fashion design project for Rosalie’s wardrobe, but Rosalie did not join her today to stand behind her and direct cut and color as Alice’s hand traced over the touch-sensitive screens. Instead, Rosalie sprawled sullenly on the sofa and started flipping through twenty channels a second on the flat screen, never pausing. I could hear her trying to decide whether or not to go out to the garage and tune her BMW again.

Esme was upstairs, humming over a set of blueprints. She was always designing something new. Perhaps she would build this one for our next home, or the one after that.

Alice leaned her head around the wall after a moment and started mouthing Emmett’s next moves—Emmett sat on the floor with his back to her—to Jasper, who kept his expression very smooth as he cut off Emmett’s favorite knight.

And, for the first time in so long that I felt ashamed, I went to sit at the exquisite grand piano stationed just off the entryway.

I ran my hand gently up the scales, testing the pitch. The tuning was still perfect.

Upstairs, Esme’s pencil paused and she cocked her head to the side.

I began the first line of the tune that had suggested itself to me in the car today, pleased that it sounded even better than I’d imagined. And oddly familiar. 

_ Edward is playing again, _ Esme thought joyously, a smile breaking across her face. She got up from her drafting desk and flitted silently to the head of the stairs.

I repeated the line again, as was supposed to naturally happen anyway. Now I was focused in intent thought, repeating the line once again. Where had I heard it before? I don’t remember it sounding quite like this. 

I added a harmonizing line, letting the central melody weave through it. 

Then it clicked. I hadn’t composed this. I had remembered this. I would have to dig out the CD this song was from later and listen to the original again, just in case I had messed up at some point, but I was certain I had gotten it perfect without having to check. 

Esme sighed with contentment, sat down on the top step, and leaned her head against a baluster.  _ A new song. It’s been so long. What a lovely tune. _

I let the melody lead in a new direction, following it with the bass line.

_ Edward is composing again? _ Rosalie thought, and her teeth clenched together in fierce resentment.

In that moment, she slipped, and I could read all her underlying outrage. I saw why she was in such a poor temper with me. Why killing Beaufort Swan had not bothered her conscience at all.

With Rosalie, it was always about vanity.

The music came to an abrupt halt, and I laughed before I could help myself, a sharp bark of amusement that broke off quickly as I threw my hand over my mouth.

Rosalie turned to glare at me, her eyes sparking with mortified fury.

Emmett and Jasper turned to stare, too, and I heard Esme’s confusion. She was downstairs in a flash, pausing to glance between Rosalie and me.

“Don’t stop, Edward,” Esme encouraged after a strained moment.

I started playing again, turning my back on Rosalie while trying very hard to control the grin stretching across my face. She got to her feet and stalked out of the room, more angry than embarrassed. But certainly quite embarrassed.

_ If you say one word, I will put you down like a dog. _

I smothered another laugh.

“What’s wrong, Rose?” Emmett called after her. Rosalie didn’t turn. Back ramrod straight, she continued to the garage and then squirmed under her car as if she could bury herself there.

“What’s that about?” Emmett asked me.

“I don’t have the faintest idea,” I lied.

Emmett grumbled, frustrated.

The song was compelling, but incomplete. I toyed with the bridge, but it didn’t seem right somehow. But I was sure I had remembered it right… 

“Keep playing,” Esme urged. My fingers had paused again.

I did as she asked, and she came to stand behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders. I began to replay the verse. It contained my favorite portion of the song. When I had developed such a taste was a mystery to me, but not something I was going to complain about. 

“It’s charming. Does it have a name?” Esme asked.

“Uh, yes,” I answered. I was fixated, attempting to play the bridge correctly. Nothing sounded right. What was I missing? 

“What’s the name?” Her smile was still there, and I was still wrestling with my faulty memory.

“I can’t quite remember,” I stated distractedly. I went back to repeating previously played portions, attempting to ignite the necessary synapses for me to be able to retrieve what I needed from my memory. 

“Is there a story to it?” she asked, a smile in her voice. This gave her a great amount of pleasure, and I felt guilty for having neglected my music for so long. It had been selfish.

“It’s… a ballad.” I got the bridge right then. It led easily to the next movement, taking on a life of its own.

“A ballad,” she repeated to herself.

There was a story to this melody, and once I saw that, the pieces fell into place effortlessly. The story was a boy lying in a narrow bed of flowers and grass, dark hair thick and wild and twisted like seaweed across the green forest floor… 

Alice left Jasper to his own skill and came to sit next to me on the bench. In her trilling, wind-chime voice, she followed along wordlessly two octaves above the melody.

_ I remember this song too. What made you think of it?  _ Alice’s silent voice questioned as she continued to sing along. 

“It’s a declaration. A promise,” I said, choosing to answer Esme. 

“It’s beautiful.” Esme squeezed my shoulder.

But I could see the conclusion now, with Alice’s voice rising above the tune and taking it to another place. I could see how the song must end, because the boy was perfect just the way he was, and any change at all would be wrong, a sadness. I hummed along, low and deep and quiet as could be. Alice’s voice cut off abruptly as she stared at me with wide eyes. 

I began recalling lyrics.  _ Shelter me, oh genius words. Just give me strength to pen these things...  _

My hands moved slower, attempting to delay the inevitable end to come. I also wanted to delay it. I wanted to exist in this very moment just a little longer. It was too fleeting for my liking. That CD was what was going to extend it later on, but for now I would savor every note, every word. 

“We will catch our ladies ear.” Alice’s gaze was still locked on me as I uttered words so soft, they would have struggled to brush the smallest of hairs. 

My hands slowed further, and Esme’s grip tightened on my shoulders. Both women were holding onto every last word and note with me. I recited the last line just as quietly as the one proceeding. 

“We will win for us the girl.” My fingers continued to the end that made my chest tight. 

Finally, I played the last note, and then stared over the keys.

Alice brushed her fingers across the top of my hand, before her hand settled over mine. Esme stroked my hair.  _ It’s going to be fine, _ Edward.  _ This is going to work out for the best. You deserve happiness, my son. Fate owes you that. _

“Thank you,” I whispered, wishing I could believe it; that my happiness was the one that mattered, but it was just another attempt at comfort from just one more person. 

_ Love doesn’t always come in convenient packages. _ I laughed once without humor, and my chest grew tighter and tighter by the second. 

_ You, out of everyone on this planet, are perhaps best equipped to deal with such a difficult quandary. You are the best and the brightest of us all. _

I sighed. Every mother thought the same of her son. God knew Esme was no exception. That she thought I was beyond deserving of such reassurance and comfort and kindness. Of such love. 

Esme was still so full of joy that my heart had finally been touched after all this time, no matter the potential for tragedy. She’d thought I would always be alone. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t agreed with her. 

_ He’ll have to love you back, _ she thought suddenly, catching me by surprise with the direction of her thoughts. Everyone, including myself, was taking this rather well. I hadn’t renounced myself for my newly discovered sexuality. I accepted it wholeheartedly, without anger. Without hate or fear. It just… was. It was as simple as that. It was as much a fact as my immortality. 

Alice made more sense in some regards. She was a woman not treated too kindly by society before she became immortal. Rosalie at least had some semblance of positive view when it came to being a human woman in her time. Alice had no such connection, so she, being an outcast of society as well, would never have had any judgement on me or Beau. Seeing the future also helped just a little bit. 

Emmett and Jasper didn’t judge either. They had no particular thoughts either way. They both just seemed hopeful that everything would work out. In Emmett’s case, he hoped that it would work out so I could “finally get laid.” Jasper was just hopeful that I would understand a love like his and Alice’s. 

  
  


Even Rosalie, despite her jealousy, was actually happy I had stopped being such a mope. That I had found someone I genuinely wanted. 

And Esme just seemed to be happy I had found anyone. Anyone was better than being alone. Even if it was for a brief period of time. 

It was just another blessing I had been given that I had no right to. 

_ If he’s a bright boy, he will have to. _ She smiled.  _ I can’t imagine anyone being so slow they wouldn’t see the catch you are. _

“Stop it, Mom, you’re making me blush,” I teased. Her words, though improbable, did cheer me.

Alice laughed and picked out the top hand of “Heart and Soul.” I grinned and completed the simple harmony with her. Then I favored her with a performance of “Chopsticks.”

She giggled, then sighed. “So I wish you’d tell me what you were laughing at Rose about,” Alice said. “But I can see that you won’t.”

“No.”

She flicked my ear with her finger.

“Be nice, Alice,” Esme chided. “Edward is being a gentleman.”

“But I want to know.”

I laughed at the whining tone she put on. Then I said, “Here, Esme,” and began playing her favorite song, an unnamed tribute to the love I’d watched between her and Carlisle for so many years.

“Thank you, dear.” She squeezed my shoulder again.

I didn’t have to concentrate to play the familiar piece. Instead I thought of Rosalie, still figuratively writhing in humiliation in the garage, and grinned to myself.

Having just discovered the potency of jealousy for myself, I had a small amount of pity for her. It was a wretched way to feel. Of course, her jealousy was a thousand times more petty than mine. Quite the dog in the manger scenario.

I wondered how Rosalie’s life and personality would have been different if she had not always been the most beautiful. Would she have been a happier person—less egocentric? More compassionate?—if beauty hadn’t at all times been her strongest selling point? Well, I supposed it was useless to wonder, because the past was done, and she always had been the most beautiful. Even when human, she had only ever lived in the spotlight of her own loveliness. Not that she’d minded. The opposite—she’d loved admiration above all else. That hadn’t changed with the loss of her mortality.

It was no surprise, then, taking this need as a given, that she’d been offended when I had not, from the beginning, worshiped her beauty the way she expected all males to worship. Not that she’d wanted me in any way—far from it. But it had aggravated her that I did not want her, despite that.

It was different with Jasper and Carlisle—they were already both in love. I was completely unattached, and yet still remained obstinately unmoved.

I’d thought that old resentment buried, that she was long past it. And she had been… until the day I finally found someone whose beauty touched me the way hers had not. Of course. I should have realized how that would annoy her. I probably would have, had I not been so preoccupied.

Rosalie had relied on the belief that if I did not find her beauty worth worshiping, then certainly there was no beauty on earth that would reach me. She’d been furious since the moment I’d saved Beau’s life, guessing, with her shrewd, competitive intuition, the interest that I was all but unconscious of myself.

Rosalie was mortally offended that I found some insignificant human boy more appealing than her.

I suppressed the urge to laugh again.

It bothered me some, though, the way she saw Beau. Rosalie actually thought the boy plain. How could she believe that? It seemed incomprehensible to me. A product of that jealousy, no doubt.

“Oh!” Alice said abruptly. “Jasper, guess what?”

I saw what she’d just seen, and my hands froze on the keys.

“What, Alice?” Jasper asked.

“Peter and Charlotte are coming to visit next week! They’re going to be in the neighborhood. Isn’t that nice?”

“What’s wrong, Edward?” Esme asked, feeling the tension in my shoulders.

“Peter and Charlotte are coming to Forks?” I hissed at Alice.

She rolled her eyes at me. “Calm down, Edward. It’s not their first visit.”

My teeth clenched. It was their first visit since Beau had arrived, and his sweet blood didn’t appeal just to me.

Alice frowned at my expression. “They never hunt here. You know that.”

But Jasper’s brother of sorts and the little vampire he loved were not like us; they hunted the usual way. They could not be trusted around Beau.

“When?” I demanded.

She pursed her lips unhappily but told me what I needed to know. _Monday morning._ _No one is going to hurt Beau._

“No,” I agreed, and then turned away from her. “You ready, Emmett?”

“I thought we were leaving in the morning?”

“We’re coming back by midnight Sunday. I guess it’s up to you when you want to leave.”

“Okay, fine. Let me say goodbye to Rose first.”

“Sure.” With the mood Rosalie was in, it would be a short goodbye.

_ You really have lost it, Edward, _ he thought as he headed toward the back door.

“I suppose I have.”

“Play the new song for me, one more time,” Esme asked.

“If you’d like that,” I agreed, though I was a little hesitant to follow the tune to its unavoidable end—the end that had set me aching in unfamiliar ways.

I thought for a moment, and then pulled the bottle cap from my pocket and set it on the empty music rack. That helped a bit—my little memento of his yes.

I nodded to myself, and started playing and humming along once again.

Esme and Alice exchanged a glance, but neither one asked.


End file.
